Teenage Wasteland
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: Ichigo transfers to an all-boys' school and gets acquainted with all sorts of teenagers, including one with whom he ultimately falls in love. For Grimmjow happens to be the most popular jock in school, while Ichigo is just your typical teen. AU GrimmIchi
1. Where's My Roommate?

**Title**: Teenage Wasteland

**Summary**: Ichigo transfers to an elite all-boys' school and gets acquainted with all sorts of teenagers, including one with whom he ultimately falls in love. For Grimmjow happens to be the most popular jock in school while Ichigo is just your typical teen. AU. GrimmIchi. On-going.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does. Title is not mine either; it's from the song Baba O'Reilly's lyrics. I suppose the plot has a lot of parallelisms with Hana-Kimi. Sorry for the lack of originality.

Chapter 1: Where's My Roommate?

**Cast introduction**:

_Students:_

**Kurosaki Ichigo**: Main character. _Freshman_. Has quite a talent in Basketball. Practical person. Typical teen

**Renji Abarai**: _Freshman_. Ichigo's best friend. Loud-mouthed. Kinda war-freak and is very much lacking in modesty. Does really well in Soccer.

**Kira Izuru**: _Freshman_. Rich kid. Of a bordering-on-noble upbringing. Likes playing the piano and is amply good at it.

**Uuryu Ishida**: _Freshman_. Smartest in the batch. Ace of the archery team. Kind of an anti-social and is blatantly snobbish

**Sado Yasutora**: _Freshman_. Peace-loving. Ace of the judo club.

**Toushiro Hitsugaya**: _Freshman_. Lazy genius. Got accelerated by 2 grades and is younger than everyone in his batch by at least 2 years. No-nonsense. Has artistic potentials but chooses to keep them unexposed.

**Yamada Hanatarou**: _Freshman_. Extremely down-to-earth, shy and is friends with everyone.

**Hisagi Shuuhei**: _Sophomore_. President of the band club. Plays the guitar, bass and drums. Pretty popular.

**Yumichika Ayasegawa**: _Sophomore_. Prettiest boy in school. Very vain and self-centered. Is very much suspiciously attached to his best friend and roommate Ikakku Madarame. Likes pointing out imperfections.

**Ikakku Madarame**: _Sophomore_. President of the karate team. Very competitive. Leans more on the hyper-active type.

**Ulquiorra Scheiffer**: _Senior_. Head Member of the Council Four, the school's students' high officials. Doesn't talk a lot and likes to read and play his violin.

**Szayel Apollo Grantz**: _Senior_. Member of the Council Four. Wants to be a top biologist someday. Counts Ulquiorra as his sole rival.

**Stark**: _Senior_. Member of the Council Four. Vocalist of the band club. Cuts a lot of classes but still manages to get above-average marks. Likes to sleep an awful lot

**Grimmjow Jaggerjack**: _Senior_. Last member of the Council Four. Doesn't quite understand how a delinquent like him ended up an officer. President of the basketball club.

_Professors: _

Will be revealed later.

From out here on the field, the world doesn't seem round. Well, the world never appears to be round if you're on it anyway. You'd have to be at least on a goddamn satellite to experience its roundness. Such thoughts swirl across his mind as he surveys his new school. Everything he observes up to the edges of his vision seems decent. Indeed, it's a whole new world where everyone vies for the top, where everyone cuts each other's throat to settle who's right. It's where he'll be spending the rest of his high school days.

"Well, freshmen, how do you like your new school?" The tour guide asks the cluster of new students following his wake.

"Not bad." Some long-haired, rebellious–looking redhead with a warm-colored bandana plucks up the audacity to answer.

"Not bad, of course." The tour guide agrees.

"Well, I do have one concern, sempai."

"Let's hear it, then."

"You've managed to drag us all around the 10+ hectares of the school grounds without hinting us your name."

The tour guide raises his eyebrows and slightly parts his lips asunder. In time he answers,

"I'm Szayel Apollo Grantz. You may call me Apple for short. I'm in the senior batch."

"More, please." The redhead freshman presses, and he might as well have flirted with the principal's secretary.

"Okay. I'm of Greek descent, hence my second name. I'm one of the 4 members of the Student Council, president of the debate club, and I'll be running for the valedictorian honors upon graduation. Is there anything more you'd like to ask?" Szayel Apollo finishes in a rather broadcasting manner. What a pompous dork, Ichigo thinks.

The group erupts to a thunder of applause. Come to think of it, he really does sound like an intelligent kid and is undeniably, rather, freakishly good-looking. Ichigo never would have thought pink hair would look good on anyone.

"Thanks."came the response, since he really loves being admired.

They are marshaled into the main building's hall, where they've earlier left their stuff. Just then, a pale, green-eyed student with mid-length black hair strides across the open floor and clears his throat, thereby gathering everyone's attention. Upon a closer look, his eyes are so startlingly large as to appear remarkably alert despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm in his movements.

"Everyone," He starts in a low and monotonous voice, "I will be posting your new room assignments here." He announces as he holds up a long piece of paper for everyone to see. "Room assignments change yearly, and the roster includes everyone in the school. As a result, it means you may be bunked in with one from _any_ batch." He finishes. He probes in his pocket for a box of thumbtacks before securing the announced list on the bulletin board. Conjuring a faint nod, he heads somewhere else.

Everyone scuffles to get a glimpse of the paper.

"Man! Why don't they just clamp us freshmen together? I mean, doesn't it sound perverted being stuck with a senior if you're only a freshman?" someone says.

An unpleasant array of groans mingles with the echoes in the great hall.

"Man!" Ichigo hears the noisy redhead grumble. He is pointing at the posted paper as though he has just discovered an essential evidence in some heinous crime scene. "My roommate is that Mr. Pinky?! This ain't gonna be a good year for me!" he finishes without sounding altogether complaining. If anything he seems more pleased than anyone else.

Ichigo tromps closer to get a relatively clear view of the paper. This is what he manages to read:

_Second Floor:_

_Room 202: __**Renji Abarai & Szayel Apollo Grantz **__(Council Four Member)_

Every floor, apparently, has twenty rooms. Each room will be occupied by two students. The dormitory building has 4 floors; each floor contains one Council Member. For that very reason, the council members are also known as Dormitory Heads.

So the noisy git gets to be smoochy with a Council Member; good for him. That might tone his boisterousness down a fucking notch, Ichigo says to himself.

He tries to snatch another glimpse of the paper, but he can't quite get a decent view because all the goddamn freshmen are breaking their necks, trying to see which room everyone is in, as if excited to be bunked in with one another, which is quite stupid because they've just been together, with barely any introduction, for one hour.

Only one kid is not joining in the clamorous confusion. Said kid has his fists stuffed in his side pockets, his back leaning idly against a nearby column. In stature, he is notably shorter than everyone else present, and his silver hair further heightens his marked extraordinariness. Ichigo, not knowing why, decides to strike up a chat with this seemingly cool person.

"Got your room assignment already?" the orange-head asks.

"..." he simply nods.

"Know who your roommate is?"

"That bloke who just made the announcement."

"Oh. You know his name? I mean, he didn't introduce himself, did he?"

"At the bottom of the paper it reads '_Prepared by: Ulquiorra Scheiffer and Approved by: Principal Yamamoto._' It says there I'll be crashed in with a certain Ulquiorra Sheiffer. Since he's the one who presented the paper, it must follow that his name is Ulquiorra Scheiffer. I'm Hitsugaya Toushiro, by the way."

"Makes sense. Kurosaki Ichigo here. Nice to meet you."

"They've almost cleared out; you can check yours now." Toushiro nods at the almost deserted bulletin board area.

He catches his name at the bottom of the list.

_**Fourth Floor:**_

_**Room 408: Kurosaki Ichigo & Grimmjow Jaggerjack **__(Council Four Member)_

Expressing his dismay openly wouldn't seem fair, because he has yet to meet this mysterious Council Four Member who has a name befitting a cartoon character villain. For all he knows, this mystery roommate may be a jerk or a saint. Personally, he vaguely wishes it's somewhere in-between.

He sighs and traipses away to gather his belongings from the depository and, upon doing so, spills half the contents of his bag. Just great. As such, Toushiro mechanically helps him pick up a few pairs of boxers.

"Don't worry, you're not the only one stuck with a Dorm Head." Toushiro tells him.

Of course, that bloke which he referred to Ichigo earlier is a Council Four Member. Little do they know that he's more than your regular figure of authority, for Ulquiorra Scheiffer, the Goth Prince as what everyone calls him behind his back, happens to be the Head of the council and the most intimidating body of expressive authority among the four.

From what he can gather, the room is rather pleasant and is fairly adequate in terms of amenities. He drops his baggage on the neat floor and explores the perimeter.

The first day of classes is entirely dedicated to the freshmen's orientation to the school's environment. On the other hand, the higher batches will have a free day, which translates to their being free to jerk around and pull fun on the freshmen. Ichigo's roommate, however, is nowhere to be seen, which wouldn't have made quite a striking difference if he were present because, right at this moment, the orange-head is getting quite a reliable sense of what this Grimmjow Jaggerjack is like. It appears that the senior has a habit of making a mess out of everything, judging from the dismantled nature of the bed where his things are lounging disorderly around. The poster of NBA superstar Kevin Garnett alone remains unmolested, for it is forlornly spread on a study table at the far corner of the room.

So there's something we can agree about after all, Ichigo thinks to himself.

That reminds him of something. He himself was a member of the basketball club in his junior high and was even given the honor of being vice-captain in his final year. Trying out for the club, among other things, is definitely something he has looked forward to upon entering the academy.

"Well, then, Mr. Jaggerjack, let's see what you've got." He mutters on the senior's empty bed.

What he doesn't know is, he shouldn't be uttering such meek levities in referring to one heck of a basketball player.

He is pursued by a childish excitement. He makes his way to the stadium, and, without knowing precisely what to expect, steps inside the building, only to be seized by a sudden amazement.

What a lavishly beautiful interior the stadium has. The light-colored maple floor panels are shining like they've never made contact with rubber sneakers before. The ceiling's height is remindful of gothic cathedrals, and it makes him wonder if the lights suspended upon it could do justice to its splendor. The interior walls are not neglected to plain concrete finish; they have acoustic panels, which in his honest opinion are more indulgent to aesthetics rather than necessity.

But fairer than everything he's seen so far is the vision that the team captain projects. He can't quite reconcile the thoughts of how he instantly figured out that this teal-haired, tall, vicious-looking lad is indeed the captain. Maybe it's his unfazed manner of commanding, on which all the other members of the team seem to be depending their actions, that's told him this boy is the leader of the pack, the engine that sets them all in motion. And when he makes for a dunk, that's when Kurosaki Ichigo becomes wholly convinced that angels do walk among the living, or there are people who keep their wings hidden beneath their t-shirts. There's something unnaturally fluid about his movements that renders his dribbling, his sprints, his shooting, his passes, his every action illustriously rich.

He watches the lad in a daze. And it doesn't cross his mind that he is in fact looking at Grimmjow Jaggerjack, his roommate.

**TBC**

**A/N**: I do not upload regularly and I'm probably the most consistent procrastinator you'll ever meet. Anyway pardon me for the errors; I scarcely have the time edit this. Pairings may turn up along the way. This is strictly yaoi because I'm a rabid yaoi fangirl.


	2. The Baby Genius and Meeting the Roommate

Chapter 2: Of Baby Genius and Meeting the Roommate

He continues to stand there, repressing the teal-haired lad's bewitching presence. Feeling so small and distant, he remembers having always been unceasingly proud of what he can do on a basketball court. But what the sight before him now presents now rings plain: he, after all, is no more than your regular teen. _A regular teen that has no arsenal to match a game of this caliber._ Realizing that much, he felt as though nothing could've been more painful to admit.

The school bell rings to announce lunch break, whereby he finds his feet carrying him to the nearby cafeteria.

"Why're you spacing out?" A familiar voice intrudes his trancelike consciousness.

"Ah, Toushiro. I'm, uh, I'm just hungry, that's all." Ichigo denies.

"Lucky you. I'm fucking _starved_."

It turns out that Toushiro's stomach's capacity is acutely disproportionate to his miniscule size. He orders two milk cartons, one bottled water, one cheeseburger, one spaghetti, one serving of large fries, and one sundae. As it is, they find themselves a table somewhere in the center of the great room.

"You sure you can finish those?" Ichigo asks in mild disbelief.

"Watch me."

Just then, a group of rowdy freshmen walks in. Ichigo recognizes the redhead someone who is leading them on. Mentioned redhead pulls to a halt upon spotting Ichigo and Toushiro.

"Hi." The redhead greets as he sits down and clumsily budges the table, occasioning Toushiro's milk to spill a few drops.

"Hi." Ichigo and Toushiro greet back.

"You guys are freshmen, right? My name's Renji." He introduces himself, trying to sound as formal as what's possible for him. He continues, gesturing to his companions, "These are my buds; this is Yamada Hanatarou; this one's Ryotaro Ikeda; and this last one is Kasuga Masashi."

"Hi." His entourage greets in unison, to which the two curtly nod in acknowledgment.

"I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. This one here is Toushiro Hitsugaya."

Renji peruses the younger boy from head to toe, "Nice to meet ya, fellow freshmen. See you guys later." He, then, winks at them before smoking out.

"With the signals he's sending all over the place, he's most likely off to be a regular in the detention room, if ya know what I mean." Ichigo comments after ascertaining that the group has gone out of earshot.

"Most likely."

They continue to munch down their lunch.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask; You look, uhm, no offense—"

"—young?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I get that all the time." The silver-haired answers casually. "I'm _thirteen_, if that's what you wanna know."

Ichigo's mouth gapes open in a wordless astonishment. "You're kidding, aren't you?"

"Nah. Just turned thirteen last week, in fact."

"So, what are you, some boy genius or some prodigy?" Ichigo asks incredulously, vigorously trying to maintain a straight face.

"Got accelerated by two grades. The school board suggested three, but that would be difficult for me, seeing as I'm three years younger than my batch-mates already."

"Really? Well, you must be amazing." Ichigo smiles weakly.

Toushiro looks away to avoid being compelled to have a say to that remark.

Before the silence turns into an awkward one, a fair-skinned boy with blond hair, who's looking quite as though he's lost in a jungle, approaches them,

"Is the seat taken?"

"No."

"May I?"

"No problem."

He dumps his food tray on the table with a remarked gentleness that one might think he fears making the slightest of rustles. Taking a seat with such a special gracefulness, he struck Ichigo as someone to be suspected of something.

"My name's Kira Izuru, and I'm a freshman too, just like you." He says. Among the things remarkable about him, his accent has an exquisite ring to it.

"I'm Toushiro Hitsugaya. This orange-head is Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Dazzling to meet you."

Ichigo and Toushiro shoot a pair of sidelong glances at each other upon determining the peculiarity in the other boy's choice of words.

"Which school are you from, Kira—may I call you by your first name?" the youngster asks.

"Please, I'd be more obliged if you did. I'm from Seretei High. It's located in the Nagoya district—"

"—I've heard of that one. It's where the business tycoons throw their children. It's a rather elite academy. Rich kids's academy, in short." Toushiro says, finally unraveling the mystery behind the civility of the boy's actions.

Kira blushes a little, "It really has that kind of reputation, hasn't it? What about you? Where did you go in your junior high?" he asks the boy.

"Yokahoma Science High." Toushiro answers.

Kira's eyes magnify to a considerable degree, "I've heard of that one. I mean, everyone has heard of that school. No wonder you're still young. It's a special academy where the most intelligent kids in Japan attend—"

"I would _disagree_ with you on that. That place is stuffed with all sorts of morons that you'd think you walked into the wrong establishment." Toushiro intercepts as if defiling his former school's reputation merely serves as a passing statement. He takes a sip from his milk.

Kira Izuru and Kurosaki Ichigo laugh heartily. Hitsugaya cracks a smile.

"Yosh, Kira-kun!" A voice pierces across the cafeteria, suspending their merry activity. They turn their heads to the voice's origin, to find a tall, spiky-haired boy waving his hands in the air as though he hasn't made himself apparent enough already.

"Oh." Kira says involuntarily.

"Who's that?" Ichigo asks.

"My roommate. He's a sophomore. He's nice, though."

The sophomore pushes his way to their table, unmindful of colliding shoulders with the other students.

"Hey, Kira, you cruel bloke. I told you to wait for me to finish in the showers so we could go down here together." He reprimands rather insincerely.

"I'm sorry, sempai, but the bell rang and I thought I'd—"

"Silly boy, they don't check attendance at lunch breaks." He says and ruffles the freshman's hair that it now almost resembles his.

"I apologize, sempai. In any case, I'd like you to meet my fellow freshmen. This is Kurosaki Ichigo and this one's Toushiro Hitsugaya. This is Shuuhei Hisagi-sempai, my roommate."

The two freshmen nod indistinctly. But, for some reason, Hisagi Shuuhei is staring pensively at Hitsugaya.

"You're that baby genius Ukitake-sensei is blabbering about." He says as he examines the young boy in obvious fascination, sitting down without awaiting invitation. "So, how's your first day?"

Ichigo's mind soars off somewhere else, because the teal-haired lad, whom he earlier duly assumed to be the basketball team captain, has entered the hall, consequently eroding his peaceful concentration. With him is a company of sweaty basketball dudes who are explicitly implying the importance of their presence by being too loud in their happy conversation. Quite apart from the rest, only the teal-haired guy appears to be disinterested.

He can faintly hear Toushiro narrating to the sophomore a not-so-detailed account of his first day adventures at school. Then he hears himself ask Hisagi Shuuhei a question he would have been reluctant to ask on any given day,

"Uhm, Hisagi-sempai, would you happen to know who that guy with the teal-colored hair is?"

The three look around to locate the object of Ichigo's interests.

"Him? Didn't _they_ make an introduction on your orientation tour?" Hisagi asks before continuing, "He's the captain of the Basketball Club and is a member of the Council Four. He is the Dormitory Head of the fourth floor. _Grimmjow Jaggerjack _is the name."

"What?" Ichigo says in utter incomprehension despite having heard the introduction perfectly well.

"His name's Grimmjow Jaggerjack." Shuuhei repeats with a delicate pronunciation of the bizarre name, "And, mind you, he really has a knack in gathering attention without lifting a finger. Proof of that is _your_ uncensored curiosity." Hisagi teases the orange-head and lightly nudges him in the ribs.

"What? No way, it's nothing like that. Jeez. _But_…"

Kira and Toushiro are staring at him, mildly perplexed by his scattered behavior.

"But what?" Hisagi pursues.

"If his name is Grimmjow Jaggerjack-I mean, it's not a common name, is it?-then he must be my roommate. That's what the list in the main building states." Ichigo says absent-mindedly.

"Oh."

"Oh."

"Oh."

"I guess I'll have to _live_ with it." He says despondently, the weight of the newly-discovered reality sinking mercilessly in his head. He feels especially uneasy with the thought of becoming so closely associated with that person in a matter of hours. He's his roommate, for Christ's sake.

"Live with what, exactly? _Jack_-sempai ain't that bad. In fact he's the best thing that's ever happened to Council Four…next to Stark-sempai, that is. Would you like me to _introduce_ you to him? He'd be delighted." Shuuhei offers in an innocent directness.

"Me? —no please, I'm, er, I'll have plenty of time for that later."

"Whatever suits you. Anyway, before I forget, I'm recruiting new members for my band club; I'm the club's president, by the way. So if you can play a thing or two, please show up in Room 104 of the School Building proper anytime between four in the afternoon until nine in the evening. Every slot is available, especially the vocalist's. Well, mostly because Stark-sempai is starting to drive me nuts with his famous procrastinating quirks. Tryouts end in two weeks, nevertheless. Better grab your chances when they're available" He winks at the three freshmen before wheeling around to take his leave. Upon reaching a short distance from the three, the sophomore pulls over and turns his head back at them, "I'll be _expecting_ you, Toushiro-kun. I've heard so much about you, and I wanna know firsthand what you're really made of. Ja ne!"

There ensues a mildly tense silence.

"What was that all about?" The orange-head asks his young friend when Hisagi has gone off.

"Nothing."

"Come on, tell us!" Kira begs.

"It's not as big as you suspect or how he projects it—"

"Well if that's the simple case, why don't you tell us already?" Ichigo pushes,

"Kurosaki-kun's right. _I'm_ auditioning for the band tomorrow. I play the piano—keyboard, that is. It's nothing much, but I'm not keeping it a secret." Kira announces sheepishly.

Hitsugaya stares at him. Gradually, he gives in. "Oh. Well. I'm-I'm a pseudo-composer. I write melodies, pieces and, yeah, that's it."

The older boys stare at each other in a daze of incomprehension. Kira speaks,

"Would that mean you have a perfect pitch?"

"Yeah, that's partly liable to my success, if I may be allowed to refer to it as such but—"

"What's a perfect pitch?" Ichigo pipes up.

"It is the ability to identify a note easily and accurately. If I hit a note using my voice, boy genius here can swiftly translate it to the chords on the keyboard or the guitar." Kira explains, readily informative about everything when sharing his knowledge needs be.

"Oh." Ichigo gazes at his small companion in wonder. It's hard enough to share a room with the school's basketball team captain who's possibly the most exalted personage in the entire academy, therefore to be friends with a rich and pretty kid and a boy genius just makes his comfort more conducive to thinning.

"So which instrument do you play, Toushiro?"

"Anything."

Ichigo paces up and down the room which is still partially empty because Grimmjow Jaggerjack has yet to make an appearance. It appears that he is either eagerly awaiting his roommate's arrival or he dreads it. Slowly, it seems, the night is gaining height.

At length, the doorknob rotates, emitting a scraping sound. Ichigo watches the door swing open. For his part, he tries to refrain from looking anything below cool.

"Hey there." Grimmjow Jaggerjack says cordially, though rather nonchalantly, as he enters, as if the words came out of him automatically. Having placed a greeting, which he thinks is sufficient enough on its own, he makes his way to his bed and rummages his duffel bag.

Ichigo finds it extremely hard to refrain from staring like a dork. The senior, upon closer look, looms ten times more intimidating and twice as entrancing. He is, after all, very handsome.

"Hi. You must be Grimmjow Jaggerjack-sempai."

"That's me alright. And I'm guessing you're my new roommate." Grimmjow answers, his head spelunking the insides of his bag, his voice somewhat muffled by his activity.

"Yeah, you guessed that right. I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. Freshman."

"Nice to meet you." He hasn't even looked up on his roommate's face. In time, he stands up, a set of clothing in hand, and darts to the toilet, while Ichigo plainly can't take his eyes off him."I ma take a good bath. It may take long, so would that be okay with you?" the senior asks, exposing what possibly is concern.

"Wha—yeah, there's no problem in that."

"I mean, you can turn the lights out if you're going to sleep. I'll just make do with the moonlight when I'm finished. Don't wanna disturb ya or anything—"

"No, it's completely fine, sempai." Ichigo assures him in a nervous manner. Without attending to his conducts, he fails to refrain from staring at his senior, so now he is very near to looking like a gaping idiot.

"Well, it's kinda late, and I'm doing the rounds after bath; ya know, try to make sure the bastards on this floor have gone to bed and are not doing anything funny. I'm the Dorm Head of the floor, by the way." Grimmjow informs him.

It surprises him that the senior is far from what he initially envisioned him to be. He seems normal, responsible, and even kind. First impressions last, or at least they should. And so accordingly, he hopes things won't get sour between them anytime ahead.

"I'll— okay, I'll turn the lights out, if you insist."

"Good boy."

"Good night, sempai." Ichigo reckons his mouth has shifted out of control. _That's just fucking gay_. He thinks.

Surprisingly, the senior answers,

"Okay, good night, _Strawberry_." And he has closed the door behind him.

Ichigo's heartbeat threatens to exceed a world record in speed.

**TBC**

**A/N: **thanks for reading and if you have any suggestions please send them in.


	3. Professor Hirako and Grimmjow Jaggerjack

Chapter 3: Professor Hirako and the Oddness that is Grimmjow Jaggerjack

Sleep is enfolding him. He has wanted to stay completely awake until his senior, Grimmjow, comes back from his nightly floor inspection. For some reason he can't quite define, he wants to see him walk in through the door. But it has been exactly forty minutes since the senior trotted off to perform his duties, that is, patrolling the fourth floor, and forty minutes is way past too long.

Before Ichigo could launch into various speculations on what is keeping the senior, he has plunged into the black pit of slumber.

He wakes up to find shafts of morning light penetrating through the window. Examining the clock, he learns it's 6:30am. That leaves him exactly thirty minutes to brush his teeth, wash his face, eat his breakfast, and zoom into his classroom.

Mechanically, his eyes dart to the other bed. It's empty. From what he remembers, he fell asleep the night prior at around 10:30pm. It follows that the senior still hadn't come back by then. He examines the empty bed, which yields signs that it was occupied last night. _He must have had very little sleep_, Ichigo deduces.

He brushes across the room in inhuman swiftness and props himself up to look presentable. Before long, he is sweeping past the corridors and has landed in the cafeteria.

"What's with the rush?" someone says in his ear. The speaker, apparently, is incorporating what sounds like a deliberate slyness in his manner. Aside from the momentary discomfiture, the freshman can feel the warmth of the person's breath stinging the back of his ear. For whatever reason, shivers run down his spine, for he recognizes that deep voice instantly.

And so Ichigo turns his head halfway around, trying to arrange his composure, "Grimmjow-sempai—"

"—you may call me Jack or Grimm; whichever you prefer." Grimmjow is smiling widely, revealing a set of white and perfectly even teeth. It is exactly the kind of smile that takes an entirely biased standpoint to appreciate. If the smile didn't look malicious then it couldn't have been anything else.

"I see, well—sempai, uhm," Ichigo stammers. The trouble is, the senior's nearness doesn't quite agree with the freshman's attempts to look cool, or at least composed. It's unnerving in the least. "I'm running late for class and I still have to grab my breakfast." He finishes and frowns at the long line of the students awaiting cafeteria services.

Grimmjow studies the sight before him in a wordless absorption, his fingers rubbing his chin. "Well, Strawberry, here's a harmless trick." He says upon coming up with a charming idea and grabs the freshman by the wrist without so much as a slight warning.

Ichigo has barely had the time to realize where the senior is dragging him into. Apart from that, Grimmjow's grip is more on the tight side. Indeed he now seems rather inescapable, thereby rendering futile Ichigo's shots of wriggling out.

Worse still, the senior is pressing him to the starting point of the line and is using his exclusive privileges to prevent his freshman roommate from being late in his first day of classes. Kinda gallant on his behalf, Ichigo thinks.

"Council Member coming through. Show respect to your senior, guys. Give way to a Dorm Head, everyone. Excuse me, I'm the basketball team captain." He hears Grimmjow make a ruckus out of his countless titles. And now wrung to a position he would rather avoid, Ichigo covers his face to prevent recognition. In consequence, a few students give grunts of disapproval.

They reach the counter.

"There you have it. Take your order, 'cos I gotta bounce now." Grimmjow says brightly, giving the younger boy a friendly salute to announce his leave.

"Thanks, uhm, Grimm—I mean, Jag-sempai." Ichigo manages to compose as he shoots apologetic glances at the long line of students before him.

Grimmjow, as though detained by something invisible, aborts his departure and turns back on Ichigo,

"_Jag_, huh? I _like_ that. That will be your roommate name for me. Catch ya later, _Berry_." The senior casts him a look that courses through him like an electric shock. In a moment, he disappears.

Ichigo can dimly make out what has just taken place. Haven't they just forged a certain bond of closeness upon designating names to each other, exclusively for their fancies?

He finds himself seated in a roomful of 35 students, some of whom he has made acquaintances with. To his delight, Toushiro Hitsugaya, Kira Izuru, Renji Abarai, and Yamada Hanatarou are in the same class. But upon making his way to Toushiro, who is currently fixed beside Kira, Renji Abarai intercepts him.

"Sit beside me, Ichigo."

Ichigo is staring blankly at him. "Why?"

"Because we're gonna have a lot of fun together."

The orange-head gives Hitsugaya a look that seems to await permission. Understanding little of Renji's conduct, Hitsugaya merely nods. And so Ichigo follows Renji Abarai at the back of the room, allowing the redhead to assign him a seat one chair away from Yamada Hanatarou. Renji sits between them.

"So, Ichigo," The redhead starts, "Baby boy whitey there is kinda _creeping_ me out—"

"If you're talking about Toushiro, you can stuff your fist down your throat now." Ichigo says, taking offense from the impression the redhead has revealed.

"No—wait, I didn't mean it like that. Jeez, you're overly protective, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Get straight to the point."

"How old is he, exactly?"

"Thirteen."

"Be serious."

"What, you think he's a midget who missed out on milk during his infancy?"

"Yes." Renji answers innocently, and he truly looks as though he has not the slightest inkling of it all.

Ichigo sighs, "He's a genius. Got accelerated by 2 grades, and I bet you ten million yen he's got more brains than half the school put together."

"He looks really smart." Yamada Hanatarou comments as his eyes come traveling down Hitsugaya's direction.

Renji stands up in startling abruptness.

"Where are ya going?" Ichigo asks.

"I ma sit next to boy genius."

Ichigo shakes his head, and at the exact same moment, the professor walks in.

The professor is looking tired and uninspired. He has a golden, perfectly straight hair whose tips reach down to his jaw line. Aside from the very wide mouth, he obviously could use a little breakfast, what with his stick-like limbs. But running counter against his unfortunate figure were the skinny jeans and the collared 3/4's shirt he was wearing; they were somewhat expensive-looking. All in all, he would've passed for a male model if it weren't for the mouth.

"Listen up, _brats_. I'm Shinji Hirako, and I'll be your homeroom teacher, which means you and I are gonna be stuck with each other all throughout the goddamn semester. You're gonna learn a lot from an expert like me."

Ichigo wonders if homeroom is in any way remotely associated with academics. More importantly, he wonders if it even in the least requires expertise.

Professor Hirako continues, "Now can anyone tell me what homeroom is all about?"

Silence ensues until a hand shoots through the air. A thin guy with a pale complexion, it seems, wants to give a good shot at the answer. Mentioned someone happens to be wearing a pair of glasses which renders his whole appearance expressive of intellectual overreaching.

"Okay, let's try to pry an answer from someone who appears to claim he has a brain." Professor Hirako says as he examines his nails, perhaps implying that being holed up in a room of pubescent yuppies doesn't quite suit his interests.

"It's a subject that concerns rearing one's conduct after the correct fashion, sir."

"Okay, and who might you be?"

"Ishida Uuryu, sir."

"Well, Ishida Uuryu, that has to be the most hypocritical nonsense I've heard in years."

Everyone shuts up. Ishida himself is gawking at the candidly impolite educator.

"I'm sorry, sir, but how, may I ask, does my answer turn out to be wrong?" he asks in a firm, mildly arrogant tone.

"Well for one thing, Ikeda-kun—"

"It's Ishida, _sir_."

"Ishida, I asked the class what homeroom _is_ all about, not what it _should_ be all about. Now if I were to answer that, I'd say homeroom is all about lounging around at 7:00 am in the morning in the classroom trying to figure out ways to avoid the following classes. And on the whole it can't be anything more complex than generating boredom. Am I correct or am I genius?"

An equally distributed silence descends on each and every student in the room. With what one may call satisfaction, Ishida sits down, looking at least partway redeemed, knowing that the professor up front is a raving lunatic.

"I second that one, professor." Renji Abarai employs his god-given talents of being a complete mega mouth.

Professor Hirako nods in a self-satisfied grin, "Good. Now the rules are simple. 'Rule', I meant; there's only one, and that is, _don't be a bastard. _'Don't be a bastard', if it isn't transparent enough, covers regulations such as that if you feel like loitering outside the room during class hours, you are not to get caught by anyone, because if you do so I'll have to answer for you. And I don't like cleaning after your mess. You can sleep in my class; it's not like there's gonna be a difference since the level of thinking required from this subject is similar to that of a sleeping brain. There's no smoking inside the classroom singularly because I hate the smell of tobacco. You may eat if you like, and you may offer me some or I'll snatch some from you. And what else? Apparently, I've _forgotten_ already."

"The protocols, sir, grading system and academic activities." Ishida suggests.

"Ah, that _shit_. I don't give exams and recitations. Grading system is pretty juvenile; you can even rid my hands of the trouble and assign your desired marks if you like. But, to make things easier, all of you are getting an A by the end of the semester. That is, if you don't deviate from the 'Don't be a bastard' policy."

Just then, a couple of knocks are heard from the door, interrupting the professor's uninspired report of the messy arrangement he likes to call his grading system in which the entire class, save Toushiro and Ishida, seems to be fully engrossed.

"Now who the _bastard_ might that be?" Professor Hirako mutters disinterestedly. "Come in."

Two tall figures tower at the doorway, and Professor Hirako finds himself eyeing them lazily.

"May I have a moment, Professor Hirako?"

It's Grimmjow Jaggerjack. Far away from everyone's knowledge, Ichigo's heart skips a full beat.

"Jaggerjack, what a pleasant surprise. What seems to be the matter?"

"I'd like to promote my club, the basketball club, for recruitments. My team is in dire need of expansion."

"Ok, take a full hour if you must." The professor consents and vacates the platform.

Grimmjow and the student with him root themselves in front of the class. One look grants everyone the thought that both possess a profound stature of confidence. To add to Ichigo's disconcertion, the teal-haired lad beams at him, indicating recognition. The orange-head is then left to blush furiously.

Grimmjow swallows hard before speaking, "I am Grimmjow Jaggerjack, captain of the Basketball Club, and this is Noitora Jiruga, my sub-captain. I am well aware that there are some of you here who possess athletic prowess, not that it needs mentioning, and I would like to invite all of you who land on that category to participate in the tryouts. The sessions will be held every day starting now and will be ending two weeks from today from four in the afternoon until nine in the evening." He finishes and cracks a polite, if not exactly a warm, smile. He then nods at his companion for a follow through.

The sinister-looking Noitora Jiruga recites in a rather derisive tone, which is also very near debasing, "Show us what you've got, and remember we're not gonna hold back on you just because you're a bunch of wimpy little freshmen. This is the _real_ thing. We expect talent, we demand skills, and we require endurance. Goes to say we don't merely give pep talks; we push and we push."

A series of ominous whispers assaults the classroom.

"That's all, professor." Grimmjow tells Hirako.

"Done already? No demonstrations like dribbling a student's head or slam-dunking the ceiling fan?" Professor Hirako asks with some sort of a hopeful expectation.

"That should do it, sir. Thank you for the time."

"Fine. Get going then."

Grimmjow nods at Ichigo as he walks past the door.

It so happens that every goddamn club president uses the homeroom period to promote his org from classroom to classroom. Professor Hirako would hint on a demonstration every time a promotion ends and would feign grave disappointment should the club representatives refuse to put on a show.

Ichigo learns more about the higher batches, such as that Apollo Grantz happens to be the Debate Club president; Hisagi Shuuhei for the Band Club, and a certain Stark, who happens to be one of the Council Four, is the vice-president; some bald guy whose name is Madarame Ikkaku for the Karate Club; the famous Ulquiorra Scheiffer happens to be the Chief Editor of the school paper; and about five or six more students have come in to promote their stuff.

"Okay. That's just about it for today." Professor Hirako announces, clasping his hands together before looking at his watch. "We have thirty more minutes for this class, and, uhm, _I'm off_. I'll see you guys tomorrow if I happen to have anything good to teach you. For now, homeroom class has come to an end."

The class thunders to an applause. With that, Professor Hirako bows before deserting his students, seemingly pleased with his little performance.

"He's kinda cool." Renji tells Toushiro excitedly.

"He's a maniac." The silver-head answers.

Ichigo and Hanatarou join into Toushiro, Renji, and Kira's circle.

"So in which club are you guys entering?" The redhead asks the four of them.

"Is it even mandatory to enter into one?" Toushiro asks, looking thoroughly bored.

"Nah, but it would be cool." Hanatarou says.

"I'm joining the Soccer Club. I'm gonna be like their Holy Chalice—"

"—Holy Grail—"

"—that's what I said. Anyway, try out with me." Renji says.

"Can't. I'm in the band. Keyboardist. The band club president is my friend and roommate. He's a real talent; plays almost everything." Kira says.

"Oh. What about you, Toushiro, Ichigo? Hanatarou here is determined to make it to the school press. Got plans?"

Ichigo looks resolutely away. And then he remembers something.

"Toushiro, isn't Ulquiorra Scheiffer your roommate?"

"Yeah."

The other three crane their necks closer to the youngest boy.

"Isn't he boring, like an ice cube?" Renji asks.

"I wouldn't know. He comes by the dorm very seldom; it wouldn't make a difference if he were forbidden to enter it. I reckon I've only been in the same room with him thrice, including just now when he came in to promote. I surmise he has a lot of things juggling in his hands, being students' council and club president and all."

"Oh. I heard he's the big cheese. Like the head of the heads—" Hanatarou says.

Renji rolls his eyes dismissively, "Perhaps you transmitted that info from a _stray_ _dog_. Come on, big cheese? Apple-sempai looks _way_ smarter and catchier than he is—"

"Why, Renji, you seem to be enjoying your pretty roommate's company—" Ichigo teases

"He's really cool, if you must _know_." Renji says knowingly.

Ichigo and Toushiro's lips curl mischievously.

"Think _whatever_ you like. Going back to what I've said, if that German boy Scheiffer is indeed the head of the Council Four, he should already step down and get himself demoted, because Grantz-sempai—"

"I didn't get that info from someone unreliable, Renji." Hanatarou says with much emphasis on every syllable, "Stark-sempai, the cool guy with wavy hair and narrow eyes who was here earlier to promote the band club, told me so. He said Ulquiorra-sempai is like running for valedictorian and is stricter for rules than the principal is. Stark-sempai's my roommate, by the way, and he's a member of the Council Four. He's really cool though. I would've joined his club instead if I had known how to play a tune."

Renji grunts dejectedly.

"I heard from Shuuhei-sempai that Stark-sempai makes a really good vocalist, but he's kind of a couch potato. And, actually, Shuuhei-sempai practically runs the band club alone." Kira says, obviously speaking in favor of his roommate and taking quite a more-than-natural pride in it.

"Well, I can't vouch for that, but I admit he's a bit of a slacker." Hanatarou admits, not realizing the understatement that came with his remark. Stark wasn't a 'bit of a slacker'. He is, if anything, the grandest among slackers.

Sounding as though he has just lapsed from a deep brooding, it is Toushiro Hitsugaya who answers, "That's my roommate for you. Top of the ranks. Ulquiorra Scheiffer. Guess I'll have to get along with him."

Ichigo's mind voyages to somewhere else. He can hear vaguely a hail of protests and proclamations from his friends, apparently asserting how cool their roommates are.

"Ichigo," Kira shakes him off his musings, "Who's your roommate?"

Renji and Hanatarou abort their petty argument.

"Jag—Grimmjow Jaggerjack-sempai."

"That one who first came in? The basketball club captain? No wonder he was exchanging glances with you all the time."

Ichigo would've blushed. But they've been yapping about how wonderful their roommates are, hence it kinda makes him despise what he has been hearing. He speaks,

"Yeah that's him. Not to brag or anything but... I'm apologizing now if my roommate turns out to be more of a kickass than all your roommates put together."

**TBC**

A/N: Thanks for reading. I opted to make Grimmjow a little more human in this fic because the majority of the shit I've written has always shown his nature is invariably inclined to hostility. This might turn out to be experimental.


	4. Meet the Profs and the Mighty Council 4

Chapter 4: Meet the Professors and the Mighty Council 4

They toss and lounge around their chairs as they wait for the second Professor, who, at the moment, is running approximately thirty minutes late. The catch is, every professor still has a vacation hangover from the summer break, thus no one's bothering to be punctual at this early stage of the school year. In a manner of speaking, the professors are showing up today for the sole purpose of scribbling their names and the subject they teach on the whiteboard. Perhaps they also mean to give brief particulars about classroom expectations.

So far, they've met four professors, among which only the homeroom teacher is abnormal.

So to start, the General Science professor, Urahara Kisuke, proves to be a rather care-free person, although he seems to know what to teach. In sum, it's a big brain behind a pretty face situation.

The History professor, however, is a very proper and orderly person. He says his name is Kaname Tousen. Ichigo vows to watch out for him because he looks as though he'd do his nuts should he run into something illegal or nearing it.

And then there's the Japanese Literature professor. Ichigo reckons his classmates, Renji and Hanatarou, have just about drooled all throughout the class. Her name is Yorouichi Shihouin, and she might have passed for a swimsuit model should her outrageous curves and tanned complexion be taken into account. All things considered, she seems bubbly, exceptionally intelligent, and energetic, and Ichigo traces back in his memory if he ever before had laid eyes on someone who was as close to perfection as this person is.

In time, the school bell for lunch break rings.

The five of them toddle off to the cafeteria with Renji marching off ahead of them, as if to lead a company of warriors to the persecutions of their valiant deeds.

"Ah, there's room for us." The redhead says in obvious glee.

He walks over to where Uuryu Ishida and a tall, curly-haired, dark-skinned lad are taking their peaceful lunch. Knowing not where else to conduct their strides, the four follow suit.

"Hi there. We're in the same class. I'm Renji, this one's Ichigo, this is Kira, this is Hanatarou, and this is Toushiro." Renji tells the two. Ichigo begins to suspect that the redhead had quite an unlucky childhood where he was unsparingly deprived of friends, and, for such an unfortunate deficiency, he is compensating for that loss now.

"Hi. Sado Yasutora, at your service, and this is my friend, Uuryu Ishida." The brusque-bodied boy replied. Oddly though, Uryuu's gaze, behind bespectacled frames, is lapsing on Toushiro Hitsugaya.

"Would you make room for five more?" Renji asks without feelings of restraint. As a result, Kira and Hanatarou feel an urgent need to smile, if only to divert the attention from Renji's boldness.

Sado temporarily abandons his food to fetch a couple more of chairs and plants them between the gaps of the other chairs around the table. Uuryu Ishida, by what seems like a natural tendency to imply indifference, merely casts them sidelong glances.

Soon, they all become engaged into amicable exchanges of remarks, which can also be considered as decent conversations. However, Ishida and Toushiro remain almost wordless. If the this convention happens to be somewhat engrossing, Ichigo fails to allude to this condition, because secretly, though anxiously, he is presently surveying the cafeteria in an attempt to treat his eyes to a good sight of his roommate. Be that as it may, Grimmjow Jaggerjack is nowhere to be seen among the group of basketball players lunching at the far corner. The freshman then feels a damp weight sink into his chest, for some ungodly reason.

When the bell rings to inform everyone of the time, Ichigo skips his steps to stride beside Toushiro as they head back to their classroom.

"Something wrong?" Ichigo asks his friend who exercised more silence in the cafeteria than what's natural for him.

"Huh?"

"You didn't speak a goddamn syllable back there."

"It's just odd."

"Which is?"

"Ishida Uuryu was my batch-mate in junior high. We never went to the same class, but…"

"But?"

"But we were vying for the valedictorian title, at least our marks were, that's why there's a mutual animosity between us. I'm sure you noticed that."

Ichigo looks at him in contemplation. "I did notice, as a matter of fact. But, Toushiro, did you take him seriously? Like, did you so much want to grab the valedictorian honors?"

"I wanted to be valedictorian. All of us would want something like that, but I didn't want it enough to make me wake up right on time during the exams. I lost. He won the title. Perhaps the fact that I walked in fifty minutes late for the Biology final exam played a part in it, but I can't exactly be sure that the opposite would have transpired had I arrived in time. He's scary. His intelligence is unnatural."

"Are you shitting me?" Ichigo asks in utter disbelief.

"No. In all honesty, I wanted to be vale—"

"Not that; the part when you slept in fifty minutes late."

"Yeah. It might have been an hour. I—"

"—know what, Toushiro? If you just take everything as seriously as what's complementary with the brains you've got, you can give all them Council Four a run for their money." Ichigo tells him, stressing each and every word so as to force them into the other's skull.

Ichigo smiles at him before wheeling around, while Toushiro stands there in a helpless struggle to reconcile his thoughts.

...

The classes go on. They've met four more professors in the afternoon, and, unfortunately for the likes of Ishida Uuryu and fortunately for those who have the same taste in people with Renji Abarai, one of them is almost as twisted as their homeroom teacher.

"Hiya everyone. I am Ichimaru Gin-sensei and I will be teaching Computer Education." The professor says, and this introduction is trailed by a train of random commentaries about equally random subjects.

After the bizarre encounter with the Computer Education educator comes a pale and tall man. He has a flowing, waist-length hair of silver strands, and Ichigo can't help noticing that this man is extremely good-looking. His name is Joushiro Ukitake; he is to be their music teacher. He also mentions that he is the moderator of the band club. And it doesn't come as surprise that he is Toushiro Hitsugaya's uncle.

The third professor of the afternoon teaches mathematics. She has very short hair and a very cute face but is only a few centimeters taller than Toushiro. The only problem with her is that she's accountable for ¾'s of the students who land into the detention hall. She hates noise to such an extent that she'd be liable to scream the hell out of your ears if you so much as dropped your pen. Ichigo from hereon swears to behave like a good kid within her presence. Her name's Soi Fon.

The last professor of the day teaches English. Above all, he seems pretty capable of manipulating the environment to his desired effect. He silences the class with a single look and moves about in a very refined manner; one could easily tell he's not one to cross. Even Renji is keeping his trap shut. But rising up from his awe-inspiring manner of projecting himself is his goddamn beautiful face. If girls were present in the room, no doubt everyone's ears would pop out a bloody mess from all the shrieking and giggling.

"I am Kuchiki Byakuya. I will be your English professor."

...

The day has come to an end.

"Renji, you gonna try out for the soccer team today?" Hanatarou asks.

"Nah. The hero always comes latest. I'll probably drop by the field sometime next week. Hey, Kira, you auditioning for the band today?"

"I would love to, but the entry to the music room is currently clogged by hopeful participants. I'll wait for the crowd to disperse. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. Ichigo, which club do you think suits your taste and abilities?"

Ichigo's stomach gives a lurch. "Uhm, I've been thinking, maybe…basketball."

"Are you sure, mate? Did you just see their sub-captain? He's gonna eat you whole with that big mouth of his and make you cry using those snaky little eyes, although I can't quite tell how. In any case, he's as scary as a tarantula, and that's coming from a guy as big as me. I'm quite sure he's a bitch. Like totally." Renji says, thinking his words of discouragement may be of tremendous help.

"There's no harm in trying. What about you, Toushiro? Want to try out for the band tonight? I'll give you my support."

"Nah."

...

Yamada Hanatarou surreptitiously treads across the room so as not to disrupt his sleeping senior from his favorite activity, rather, inactivity. Stark, on top of everything that he is, is a sleep-whore. He closes his eyes every time he gets the chance to do it and promptly refuses to open them unless great necessity calls for it. Great necessity's definition, according to him, is strictly confined within the bounds of matters of life and death. Aside from sleeping, one of the most commonly attributed merits to the senior is that he owns a strikingly magnificent voice. Hanatarou has more than once had the opportunity to catch fragments of the senior's singing. He can testify anywhere and anytime that his Stark-sempai is a born rock star. He stares at the wall clock; it's only 7:30 in the evening, but neither the early hour nor the ruckus outside their window is capable of sundering Stark from slumber.

The truth is, Stark only managed to snatch a Council Four position out of sheer popularity. The students thought they'd have more freedom in school if they planted a lazy-ass, verging-on-irresponsible student in the office. They, however, made a horrible mistake, for Stark doesn't do anything in the students' council's office except to use the director's chair to snore the day away. For starters, he can as much defend a delinquent's offenses against authority as a chair can. It's as if he only exists in the office's name to complete the mystical number four. But come to think of it, Stark wouldn't bother to pin you in the detention room if you detonated a dung bomb in his face; rely on him to find it too tedious a task to trouble himself with punishing you.

But Yamada Hanatarou adores his roommate, for reasons such as that Stark procures a perfect image of coolness and influence unconsciously; just about everything he dreams to be.

...

Renji Abarai collapses on his bed. It hasn't exactly been a tiresome day, but there's pretty much nothing to do when it's still too early to sleep and all your buds have retired to their quarters.

"Tired, I guess?" His roommate asks.

"Not really. Say, sempai, what do you do at times like this, when there's practically nothing busy yourself shitless with?"

"I never run out of things to do."

"Oh." Renji feels a slight tinge of envy.

"Want to go grab a soda with me? To relieve you of boredom?"

"Oh no, I shouldn't trouble you—"

"What are roommates for if you're not gonna acknowledge this sort of privileges?" Szayel Grantz asks.

Sometimes, Renji finds his remarks aggressive and foreboding of something awkward, but these thoughts are easily washed away once the senior charms him off his defenses with a smile.

At the cafeteria,

"You don't happen to know a certain Uuryu Ishida, do you?"

"We're in the same class. My buds and I had lunch with him earlier this afternoon."

"I see."

"Do you know him, sempai?"

"I ran into his name in the school records, and it said there he had the highest grade in junior high among all the freshmen here."

"Oh." Renji detects feelings of intellectual inferiority touching down on him.

"I'd like to lure him into the debate team."

"Oh. There's also another smarty-pants in our batch, Hitsugaya Toushiro."

Szayel fiddles the straw in his soda. "Baby genius? He's Scheiffer's roommate, or so I heard, therefore I'm more inclined to assume Goth Prince already has his fingers wrapped around this kid. You watch; Hitsugaya-kun's falling into his net in no time."

Szayel Apollo Grantz and Ulquiorra Scheiffer are the most intelligent students in the senior batch, or perhaps in the entire school. While Szayel imposes a certain feud on Ulquiorra, the latter only sees it as a mere impediment to his official duties, seeing that Szayel tends to disagree with 95 percent of the things he says. Beyond that, Ulquiorra Scheiffer is quite convinced he has no competitions in matters of intellectual capacity.

Szayel Apollo Grantz, however, is about to change that. And so, at the back of his head, Renji simply can't help marveling at his senior's outspoken competence.

...

Toushiro Hitsugaya has his nose buried in the paperback novel 'A Prayer for Owen Meany' by John Irving. He barely senses his senior roommate make an appearance at the doorway.

Ulquiorra Scheiffer makes for the shower room, seemingly avoidant of the freshman's attention. It takes him ten minutes to finish his bath, after which he grabs a book from his desk, as if to mimic his roommate.

Minutes of undisturbed silence pass.

"I've about four more titles on the desk by John Irving. You can treat yourself to them after you finish with that." Ulquiorra starts.

Something dawns on Toushiro. He, upon impulse, grabbed a book from the table some two hours earlier and from then had his face buried in the book, up until now. It didn't occur to him that he might have trespassed on some holy property. And his unthinking carelessness in grabbing his roommate's paperback failed to make its way to his mind as he started to find the book more engrossing than anything written or printed. Now is perhaps the time to apologize.

"I—I'm sorry, Scheiffer-sempai, I got bored, and—"

"I don't mind. It's just a book." The senior says, and, for once, there's something evidently sincere about the way he speaks. Looking completely as though he doesn't mind just as he proclaims, he resumes reading.

"I should've at least asked for your permission."

"Are you enjoying it?"

"Very much."

"John Irving is one of the most talented and witty writers of the modern age, and what you have in your hands right now is arguably his finest work." There's a deep, almost dark reverence in the way he speaks that Toushiro is almost taken aback.

"Oh. It's highly infectious; I can hardly pry my eyes from the texts."

Ulquiorra nods.

What they have yet to discover is that they share countless things in common. Apart from novels, Ulquiorra loves the English language, and Toushiro, almost just as much. They both have numberless book titles under their list and their lines of interests are almost perfectly parallel. Also, the senior has an eerily tight attachment to selected artworks, while the freshman's taste for visual style is almost identical to the other's. As for musical taste, Ulquiorra plays the piano and violin, the latter being his favorite, while Toushiro plays at least one instrument from every musical instrument family. But, more than anything, he loves his violin, which he keeps hidden under his bed.

Toushiro Hitsugaya realizes that spending four hours of silence with this senior isn't gonna be that bad after all. On the contrary, he finds an evening of this composition very ideal to him.

...

"How's your first day, Berry?" Grimmjow asks in the heat of drying his hair with a towel.

"It was good." Ichigo says. He is lying on his back on his bed, holding a Sports Illustrated issue on his face. To his irritation, his eyes are constantly being pulled defenselessly by an unknown force to where the senior is. His focus, which is supposedly devoted to the article he's reading, keeps on veering out of control.

"Good for you. Did I make an impression back there? I wanted to come up with a cooler shit to say in that promotion, but then I ended up looking like Noitora's messenger."

"Not really. Personally, I think you did great." Ichigo offers, his tendencies for flattery swinging in full motion.

Grimmjow bolts up from his bed and hops across the room, ending his sudden set of movements by landing briskly on Ichigo's bed. The orange-head, now mildly perurbed but utterly surprised, drops the magazine involuntarily on his stomach. He can smell the fresh scent of shampoo dissipating from the senior's hair. But now his stomach is starting to quiver without hope of extenuation. At the moment, he wants to leap away from the bed, but he's sure it would produce quite an idiotic scene. Besides, his senior is plainly being friendly- disturbingly friendly and close.

The senior throws the towel back to his bed and examines the dryness of his hair with his hands. All of a sudden, he thrusts his head on Ichigo's face. Needless to even mention, the freshman doesn't know what to make of his confrontation with Grimmjow's fragrant hair, and so Ichigo's chest is hulking dangerously beneath his shirt.

"You smell that?" The senior asks.

"Y—yeah. Uhm, mint orange?" Ichigo shoots a maddeningly nervous, and out of target, guess.

"Wrong. Mint strawberry. Mint _you_! Hahahaha!" Grimmjow laughs halfway to hysterics.

Ichigo freezes. It seems to him that he has abruptly strayed into a dream without crossing a particular barrier.

"Touch it." The senior says suggestively rather than demandingly.

Ichigo slowly, and with an abundance of hesitation, reaches out to feel the other's hair. It's still considerably damp.

"You think I can sleep with this already?" Grimmjow asks the freshman.

"Sure-I mean-what's wrong with it?"

"You're not supposed to sleep on wet hair, silly."

"Oh, I didn't know that, sempai."

"Now you know." The senior says and finally rises up from Ichigo's bed.

The freshman heaves a blessed sigh of relief. But no sooner than Grimmjow dives into his own bed does Ichigo become ravaged by a luster of deep disappointment. He could've made him stay longer, maybe until his hair dries completely. _What am I thinking?!_ His mind is raving in a crazy mess.

"Good night, sempai."

"Good night. And don't let me catch ya sleeping with a damp hair, okay?"

"Okay."

And so it comes to him, though he doesn't want to admit it, though he would give his everything to deny warrant to a certain feeling, that he'll do whatever it takes to make it to the basketball club, if only to prove himself to this senior, to make him see him as what he truly is, to push him to a personal acknowledgment of what he's made of. Yes, he'll traverse past everything… if only to be _near _him.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Jesus. That was corny. Hahaha. Yaoi hints are in some places in this chapter. I guess.


	5. The Goth Prince and the School Jock

Chapter 5: The Goth Prince and the School Jock

The morning finds Ichigo alone in the room again.

"He's really punctual for a busy senior." Ichigo murmurs to the empty bed.

He makes his way to his class, and, before long, official lectures commence. Needless to say he's still dwelling in what occurred last night, he can hardly collect the sufficient concentration needed to acquire the slightest ideas the professor up front is generating.

Basketball is all over the place, at least in his mind, and along with it is a certain teal-haired…

"Ichigo, how long do you plan on staring off to god-knows-where?"

"Huh?"

"Lunch bell has gone off 3 minutes ago."

"Oh."

He follows Toushiro, Renji, and Hanatarou down the cafeteria. He feels his tread grow heavier with each step, and so to dispel his listlessness he observes his surroundings.

"Where's Kira?"

"Hisagi-sempai fetched him upstairs. They were yakking it up about the music room. I reckon Kira's getting a special treatment and all just because they're roommates." Renji says.

"I thought tryout sessions start at 4?"

"I think they're just hanging out. Kira's gonna play it out later at around five. We should be there."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Ichigo can see Kira dining with Hisagi and two other guys and hitting it off on a nearby table.

Some five tables away is a scene of much impression. Ulquiorra, Szayel, Grimmjow, and Stark are having what appears to be an exclusive lunch on a single table. Ichigo wonders if the Council Four only agreed upon this dining arrangement under a strict imposition whose purpose is to present a good example of cordiality to the other students. His eyes are locked on his roommate. There appears to be some sort of a tense air in the enclosure of the four figures of authority's presence. Apart from it all, he can smell that none of the four seniors regards this whole affair as his top choice for a dining environment. Or maybe he's over-analyzing what he's seeing. He draws forth his reserved fondness to snooping, not knowing what's in store for him.

Ulquiorra Scheiffer's eyes keep on darting at Grimmjow Jaggerjack in a ceaseless repetition, and with the expanse of the distance that's keeping their faces apart, which approximately is two and a half feet, Ichigo is damn sure Grimmjow can feel each and every glance.

...

The day ends rather pleasantly, except for the fact that Professor Byakuya has given them a 3,000-word reading material, from which they are required to produce a minimum of 1,000 words of review.

The five freshmen climb down the set of stairs to proceed to the auditorium, where the band club is holding auditions. They chance upon Sado Yasutora and Uuryu Ishida.

"Yosh, Chad, Uuryu. Care to tag along?" Renji greets.

"Where to?"

"To the band club audition."

"Who's auditioning?"

"Kira is."

Kira's cheeks flush. Toushiro, for the hell of it, casts a quick look at Ishida.

"Sounds good." Sado answers, to which Ishida heaves a sigh before nodding.

"You have a previous engagement, Ishida-san?" Toushiro asks, noticing Ishida's implied disapproval.

"No. Let's see what the band club has to give."

...

The ambient lighting in the room renders the main attraction obscure. On the front row, Hisagi Shuuhei can be discerned chewing on his pen while watching the performer with a stiff observation. Beside him sits Stark, who is yawning. He has one arm slumped over the backrest of his seat and his one leg crossed over the other. Although he's most likely disinterested, his toes are swinging rhythmically after the tune that the performer up front is playing. Two more band club members are occupying the front row. Behind them is a sea of onlookers.

"Many turned up today." Renji comments upon surveying the room and the amount of spectators that are clogging all the thoroughfares.

Kira swallows the lump in his throat in nervous anxiety. And so the seven freshmen head and push their way toward the vacated seats.

"Good luck, mate." Ichigo pats Kira on the shoulder.

Over the span of thirty minutes, they witness five performers hitch it up with what they've got, and they, the watchers, must say that their performances are rather commendable.

"May I call on Kira Izuru?" Hisagi Shuuhei's voice, which is magnified to multitudes in terms of volume with the aid of a microphone, fills the acoustic panel-treated hall.

"Yeah!" Ichigo and Renji cry in unison.

The band club members, except Stark, orient their faces to the commotion's direction. Luckily, Kira has stomped off the aisle, leaving his rowdy pals to themselves. When he reaches the spot where Shuuhei is seated, the latter raises his palm for a high five. In return, the blond boy slaps the waiting hand with utmost energy.

At the exact second when Kira heaves himself up the stage, Hisagi Shuuhei leans over to his table and starts rotating the pen he's previously chewing using his fingers. He is obviously overcome with a tinge of giddiness, for what no one else besides himself can tell.

The freshman is playing "Baba O'Reilly" by The Who, using the keyboard. It is indeed a beautiful tune which can easily captivate anyone with its bare melodies. A vocal accompaniment, however, would've rendered it all sublime.

Stark stands up before Kira starts the second verse.

"Where do you think you're going, sempai?" Hisagi asks his vice-president senior in-between mild irritation and forced respect.

"Just thought I'd make myself more useful."

Hisagi Shuuhei knits his eyebrows as though he has just been spoken to in a foreign language. But Stark strides past the aisle between the first row and the stage, fists in pockets, with what probably is a peculiar intention. Far away from their knowledge, the senior is about to elevate the uneventful spectacle, though the acoustics are pleasing enough, into a full-blown unplugged gig. Sure enough, he grabs the microphone. As such, several sophomores let ought a multitude of chilling 'ooh's'.

He sings.

It is awesomeness far exceeding their best expectations. He really can sing, and, by the looks of it, he knows he really can. There's a certain gruffness in his voice that exudes some form of nostalgia. There's something infinitely sincere about the execution that's capable of transporting any listener to a heightened sense of acoustic awareness. And while has his fists stuffed in his pockets and is leaning too close to the microphone, the spectators simply cannot dispel the sense of admiration sweeping over them. What a rocking sight he is. The crowd is utterly lost.

Kira plays on in perfect coherence with Stark's tempo. And when they have finished, the freshman and the senior define legend. It wouldn't be a surprise if the crowd threatened to tear down the ceiling.

Kira mutters a curt sound of gratitude as the senior gets back to his seat, where the band club president is waiting for him with the blankest of stares.

"What? Didn't want me getting too close with yer roommate?" Stark asks before Shuuhei can utter a word.

"Shut up, sempai. Anyway, that was brilliant." The sophomore tells him, avoiding the eyes of the receiver of his compliment.

Ichigo and Renji are rubbing their fists against Kira's sleek hair.

"Congratulations." Ishida tells him.

"They're not announcing the results until 3 days after."

"Even so, you've proven to be a winner." Ishida answers.

Yamada Hanatarou is still engaged in an endless surfeit of fervent applause. Toushiro and Sado, on the other hand, are staring at Ishida, the same kind of smile betraying their reserved behavior. So boy genius isn't much of a sociopath, after all.

Shuuhei clears his throat, making himself audible, "Okay, please settle down. May I go on with the performances? Yes? Okay, Toushiro Hitsugaya, please _proceed_ to the stage now."

The seven freshmen suspend their little celebration as though some invisible assailant has just abducted their voices and actions. But their disbelief can hardly match Hitsugaya's, whose formerly sleepy eyes now ball to their full size, for what seems like the first time.

He collides stares with Ichigo, and without taking his eyes off his orange-haired friend speaks in dumbfounded firmness,

"I _didn't_ sign up for this. I didn't put my name in; you _know_ I didn't." He finishes as if the truth in his claim solely depends on Ichigo's choice to believe or disbelieve in him.

"Toushiro Hitsugaya, please come over here now." Shuuhei can be heard saying over the microphone.

"Go on, Toushiro, they're waiting." Ichigo eggs him on as if compelling a child to walk first time around, still partly hanging on to some belief that he didn't hear the announcement correctly.

Hitsugaya does not answer. He whisks around, and, to his six companions' great surprise, heads straight down to the front of the auditorium. Everyone in the hall is looking at him.

He reaches Shuuhei.

"There must be some kind of a mistake. Someone else registered my name. I don't want to do an audition. Never did. Never will."

"Professor Ukitake, your uncle, signed you up."

Hitsugaya sighs in obvious distress. "Well then, that invalidates the whole of this. Someone signed up for me _without_ my consent. I'm sorry, but goodbye."

"On the contrary, the will of the club moderator, who happens to be your uncle, comes _first_ in our priority list. Please take the stage now."

"No." the young freshman says flatly.

"Is that so?" Shuuhei pursues.

"Give the kid a break, Hisagi." Stark suggets.

"No. Take the stage, please."

"Under whose orders?" Hitsugaya challenges. The longer he stands there the more convinced he becomes that the sophomore is purposely driving him to the end of his patience.

"Your Uncle. Though if you choose to disobey, perhaps I can go to his office now and—"

Hitsugaya rolls his eyes in frustration as it becomes wholly apparent that he has come to his last and final stage of endurance.

"Tsk. I'll do it. If that's what you want, fine. Effing fine." Hitsugaya says, mortally enraged beneath his façade of emotional constraint.

He grudgingly carries his feet to the stage without realizing he hasn't got anything ready. Come to think of it, he doesn't even have an instrument with him.

Such as the circumstances are, Ichigo and his pals can't quite tell what in hell's name is happening.

"What are you gonna play for us?" Shuuhei asks with a contented grin.

Hitsugaya looks around for an _unavailable_ instrument. Upon inspection he deduces that no classical string instrument is in sight, and so he decides,

"Violin."

Shuuhei and Stark stare at each other for a considerable amount of time. In due time and after some consideration, Stark whispers something to the sophomore's ears, whereby Shuuhei nods.

"Toushiro, I will have to ask you to wait while we fetch a violin from the music room."

Hitsugaya sits down, Indian style, scowls here and there, sticks an elbow on his knee, and finally sighs, now coming at last to suspect that the world's most harrowing inconveniences have been heaped on him. And so to accommodate his wishes, a member of the band club speeds off somewhere else.

Just then, two sophomores enter from the service door. Ichigo recognizes them as the ones with whom Shuuhei and Kira were dining earlier that day. The bald one had earlier promoted his Karate club in his class; Madarame Ikkaku.

"What d'you want? I'm busy." Shuuhei tells Ikkaku's companion.

"We're not looking for _you_." The anonymous sophomore answers.

Toushiro's eyes flow down where the small talk is going on. He can hear a few fragments of the conversation. He also can't help noticing that this cocky sophomore is extremely beautiful. With his girlish eyes, brilliant skin, and shiny hair, he can fasten all attention to him without as much as pulling a smile.

"And why're ya here, Yumichika?" Shuuhei asks second time around.

"I need to speak with Stark-sempai."

Ikkaku shakes his head. Stark is shaken off his nap.

Yumichika continues without even confirming if the senior is a hundred percent awake, "Stark-sempai, I need to swap rooms with a certain freshman. May I have the permission—"

Yumichika stops in the midst of his sentence, his eyes now suspended on Sado Yasutora. "You!" Yumichika Ayasegawa resumes.

"Me?" Sado inquires in mild confusion.

"I need to swap rooms with you. Your current roommate is this baldie here, right?" The pretty sophomore motions at Ikkaku, who seems to be not enjoying the whole of the affair and is looking much like he'd rather be anywhere else in the goddamn globe. Yumichika continues, "Well, my current roommate is that Pencil Guy beside you. Deal?" He finishes while nodding at Ishida Uuryu.

"Sounds good." Sado answers.

"What makes you think that I, the Dorm Head of your floor, will allow that?" Stark says, stupefying everybody within the vicinity. Since when has he started giving a damn shit about the goddamn rules? Really, one might conclude the world is probably ending tomorrow or the day after tomorrow or two days before the day after tomorrow.

"Do you need to be carted off to the infirmary, sempai?" Hisagi asks dubiously.

Yumichika strides forward the senior with an air of elegant confidence, "What makes _me _think that? Let's see. You're gonna _allow_ us to swap rooms and that's it."

"Really?" Stark asks him back with an equal amount of self-assurance.

"Yeah, really."

"What if I said 'no'?" The senior is sounding very provocative, contrary to what's expected of him.

"You're not gonna say 'no' because if you did, I ain't gonna lay off you. And who else in the world hates being bugged more than you do?"

Everyone sweat-drops. The smartass sophomore, to top the scene, reigns supreme and is beaming in triumph.

"You win; I can't say 'no' to that. Swap rooms with whomever you desire."

"Hurray!"

Shuuhei decides to appeal for the reasonable, "Shouldn't you consult Ulquiorra-sempai first? He'll be arriving in a split second—"

"Oh, shut up, Hisagi." Yumichika snaps.

Before the band club president can retaliate, the service door swings open once again to reveal the band club member who trotted off earlier to acquire a violin. Ulquiorra Scheiffer is trailing him by.

"You called for me, Stark?" The head of the mighty Council Four asks the other senior.

"Yes."

"And what might you have under your sleeve? an urgent need to detain me?"

Half of the audience looks away.

"More or less yeah. Someone here is to perform using your line of expertise; violin. We'd like a top class opinion." Stark answers coolly and nods at Hitsugaya's direction.

Hitsugaya has never in his life desired to flee as much as he does now. He realizes he has just allowed himself to be subjected to a most agonizing torment. How could he have been so stupid? It's bad enough that every one of his friends is here to witness a budding fiasco, but to pile the presence of his roommate on top of everything? It's beyond his capability to accept. Exaggerations aside, this possibly is absurdity carried to its farthest extremities. But then it doesn't end there. His roommate, Ulquiorra Scheiffer who's possibly good at everything he does, whom he has secretly started to admire with restraint, is sure to head back to his more important and interesting occupation. Or so Hitsugaya Toushiro thinks.

Ulquiorra studies the freshman, and, to everyone's amazement, takes the seat beside Stark. Toushiro blinks twice, and in the meantime someone hands him a violin.

Without further ado, he commences a pleasant performance of Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel. The violin cries but, more than that, this is plainly euphoria, if nothing else. Hitsugaya Toushiro is no mere talent; he's an artist.

When it finishes, Renji and Ichigo are hitting the ceiling by bouncing up and down, making a trampoline out of the goddamn floor. For whatever discomfort he is currently feeling, the silver-haired freshman merely scratches the back of his head, watching the senior at the corners of his eyes. He, to whom all his consciousness was directed while he was playing, now stands up.

"What can you say, Scheiffer?" Stark asks the retreating Ulquiorra.

Hitsugaya would've given anything not to know the answer; well, the crowd, with the uproar they're pulling, is helping him very much anyway.

"It was superb." Ulquiorra Scheiffer's mouth reads.

...

"You guys are going back to your rooms now?" Renji asks his six companions.

Everyone nods in perfect coherence.

"Lame!" The redhead scowls at them all.

"See ya later, Renji." Sado tells him, "I've to pack my stuff 'cos I'm transferring to another room, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're excused." Renji dismisses him with an enormous scowl.

The group disperses, leaving only the orange-head and the redhead retaining their positions.

"You ain't retiring?" Renji asks Ichigo.

"It's too early. Let's go watch the basketball tryouts."

"No. Let's go watch the soccer tryouts instead."

"Rock paper scissors."

"Fair enough."

They draw their fists to subject them to what probably is their most marked confrontation to date. Renji loses.

"I don't believe it! Rematch!"

"Let's get going."

They arrive at the stadium to witness the most grueling tryout session held in the entire campus. The basketball team's coach, Coach Zaraki Kenpachi, is seated coolly on the bench, only watching the tryout intently. Team Captain Grimmjow Jaggerjack is cheering from the sidelines with as much seriousness in his face as that of a mourner watching a coffin. Holding tryouts is not a walk in the park, of course. But Grimmjow is not only fulfilling his role as an exalted athlete. He is determined to build a team, an excellent team, and there's no giving way to favorites and personal fancies; he will only pick the best of the bests.

Ichigo watches him and feels a weight sink in his heart. He wonders if this boy, this so marvelous roommate of his, has enough space left in his mind for anyone to occupy. Him, in particular.

The orange-head wheels around before the tryouts end. He says goodbye to Renji and wanders around the school's perimeter.

What he doesn't know is, Grimmjow Jaggerjack has a lot of space in his mind for a certain someone to occupy.

...

On the rooftop is a picture-perfect sight, only there's no one to look at it and ogle at its splendor. The night has gone far advanced, but for Grimmjow Jaggerjack and Ulquiorra Scheiffer this meeting is only at its start. The head of the Council Four is playing a tune by Sarasate in his violin, which just further intensifies the bleariness of the world around them. The basketball team captain's senses run amok with the sound being supplied to him. How he loves listening to his fellow senior, his former roommate, for it brings him ease.

"You never fade, do you?" The teal-haired lad asks when the other has finished playing.

"I do not know how to, to start with."

"Cocky as always, huh?"

"What do you want, Grimmjow?"

Grimmjow's smile fades to be replaced by a sudden gloom.

"You know what I _want_." He mutters in a very low voice, his eyes straying everywhere except the spot where Ulquiorra is.

"What you want I can _no _longer supply."

"Yeah. That much is obvious. But somehow…" He falters and doesn't regain his voice until several seconds have passed, "Do you even look at me, Ulquiorra?"

The Goth Prince gazes at him expressionlessly, then he opens his mouth.

"I guess there's no use in doing that."

They stare at each other for what must have been a century.

**TBC**

**A/N**: Okay, to be blunt, there's competition for Ichigo.


	6. The Loneliness of the King

Chapter 6: The Loneliness of the King

He hasn't exactly been happy all this time. Yeah, the title 'basketball team captain' was bequeathed to him before his second year came to an end and it was announced that he was to be an officer in the next year, but something still at the far end of the seesaw was a weight too solid to ignore.

And he recollects what transpired between them in vivid details:

"_We're like two poles of a single force. We're never meant to unite yet we stand on the same barren plane."_ He can clearly recall Ulquiorra's manner of speaking when he said this; damn, he can still remember his clothing down to the last thread.

"_Well, then, go, for fuck's sake. It's not like I can endure you for another three seconds."_ Grimmjow snarled.

"_As you wish."_

That was the last he saw of him in the previous year. His temper shot through the ceiling when Ulquiorra made for the exit. Over the next summer, Grimmjow would find his mind receding to that day. Worst of all, he'd find himself thinking of that person more than he ought to.

Now he's standing face to face with the same boy and he can't quite figure out which course of action to take.

"I've recently stared at the man in the mirror. I don't scowl and smirk a lot anymore, or at least not at everyone. I don't pull cruel pranks on freshmen any more than you do. No longer do I engage myself in street brawls. I curse as seldom as I can manage. And lately I've been smiling and have been incurably nice and polite. So that just got me thinking, I owe it all to you, man. Thanks, I should say."

"You're welcome." Ulquiorra turns to leave.

"You never cease to amaze me. You're so damn tough to bend."

"We can't reverse what's been said and done. We're over, Jag."

Grimmjow sighs with evident difficulty, as if he has just been informed of some grave calamity.

"Yeah, I'd known that the moment you told me so. Like, how long has it been? Six months?"

"I have to get going."

The green-eyed Ulquiorra recommences his departure, but gets pulled to a stop halfway through,

"I think I'm slowly getting closure, but you could help me big time if you started talking to me, at least." Grimmjow says.

It's Ulquiorra's turn to sigh, "I'm not severing ties with you. It's just that there's nothing to talk about."

"Yeah, I know that too. I know everything. Only that you seem so fucking distant when you're living practically three floors below me. Are you—dammit—are you still even here?"

The pale boy turns around and looks at the horizon. Without disengaging his gaze from the scene, he speaks, "Maybe you're the one who's not looking at me. I never went away yet you ask if I—"

"Bull. You know what I fucking mean."

"Apparently, I don't. Perhaps we really don't understand each other; that's why we're sundered like heaven and hell. In any case, I'll see you around."

Grimmjow watches him slip away as his heart rends in half in a harrowing distress. When Ulquiorra has disappeared, he becomes suddenly seized with fury, and, without giving way to something like logic, he kicks the defenseless trash bin nearby with all his might, sending it tumbling in mid-air with all its contents splattering on the concrete floor.

"Fucktard."

...

This is the day when Ichigo decides he'll hatch up what he's got to enter the basketball team. It has been over a week since he's started school, and up to this day he's just your regular teenage boy. Well, nothing beats such mainstream belief than being a sports jock, he thinks.

But, more importantly, his roommate has been acting weird lately.

He had recognized the senior's inclination to violence during the first time he saw him. He also knows that being a team captain means yelling, losing temper, a whole lot of cursing, and everything related to authority. But silence? Grimmjow has been strangely un-relatable to the roommate he's known.

At the end of the day he makes his way to the stadium, accompanied by his fellow freshmen, all the while heaving a sigh and reciting a mantra in his head, "I'm gonna make it to the team, I'm gonna make it to the team…"

"HO!"

"Dammit, Renji, you trying to make me the first one to die of anxiety attack in this school?"

"Actually, Toushiro here died of it over a week ago when he pulled the band club act, and he just got resurrected because Ulquiorra-sempai said he did great—"

"Be careful with what you choose to say, Abarai." Toushiro warns the redhead before turning to Ichigo, "Your nerves are getting the better of you?"

"No. Like, I can completely relax because in a matter of minutes I'll be trying out for the basketball team, and the players of which are just about twice my size and probably have wings sprouting beneath their goddamn jerseys; either that or they have magic springs under their soles. And then there's the coach, oh the coach. I don't quite know what to make of that monster. I do know he's as tall as a mountain and, if looks could kill, man, there'd be no student left in this goddamn campus. And that's not mentioning that this is the last day of the tryouts; ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? If I don't make it now, I'll be doomed to a year of mediocrity!"

Everyone is staring at him blankly.

"Ichigo, would you like me to fetch a box of sedatives from the infirmary?"

"No, thanks, Kira."

"You're making a drama over the whole of this," Renji snaps at the orange-head with impatience and commences a lengthy train of teasing, "If you fail this time around, all ya have to do is do your puppy-eyes on your roommate. I mean he's the captain, ain't he? And then he'd go like, '_Oh, Berry! My dear Strawberry! Grimmjow-sempai is gonna take care of you. Of course, you can enter my team_'—"

Ichigo chucks his duffel bag at the redhead's face and is looking quite on his way to committing his first murder.

"Ouch!"

"You deserved it, idiot." Hitsugaya mutters under his breath.

They eventually reach the stadium, where a quarter of the school's population is gathered. For that and for other reasons, Ichigo is looking utterly petrified.

"Man, it's jam-packed with losers. If ya wanna back down, we can instead grab coffee or something." Renji suggests.

"Whoever said anything about chickening out?"

"That's the spirit."

...

The qualifiers are asked to stand in a straight line side by side with each other. Noitora Jiruga, the vice captain of the team, studies them all in a crude scrutiny, throwing in a few side comments while he's at it. He turns to Coach Zaraki,

"Waddaya say, coach, shall we take all them now?" the long and lanky senior asks, grinning in unrestrained malignity.

"Do as you wish; I'm just here to support the team's decision and coach you in the official games afterwards."

"Did ja hear that, freshmen? I can do whatever I like with y'all!" Noitora tells them with a maniacal grin.

"I'll make the decisions, if you don't mind." It's Grimmjow. It's taken him quite a long time to recognize his queue to talk.

The vice captain scowls contemptuously before speaking with a voice that reeks of severe, almost fatal, irritation, "I know, duh. I didn't mean it like that, for fuck's sake. We'll do the formal tryouts."

Everyone looks nervously at Grimmjow Jaggerjack, anticipating an eruption. But Ichigo, on the other hand, is staring disdainfully at the other senior, who seems to be treating his roommate, whom he so glorifies at the back of his mind, with so little respect.

To everyone's surprise, Grimmjow merely nods, "Okay then, I will divide you now into two groups. Since there are only six of you here, each line-up will consist of two official team players. Two of them will be me and Noitora here, while the other two shall be from our starting line-up. Now, we will not be spoon-feeding you in this game. There'll be no coaching, no pep talks, no nothing. We are allowing you to play at your own accord, which goes to say we are leaving you to your own devices. Finally, the winning team of the match will be given no credit simply because we will be judging you individually. You will be evaluated immediately after the game, and the results will be up tomorrow morning before lunch break. Any questions?"

The other five qualifiers twitch.

To his tremendous relief, he is teamed up with Grimmjow and not with Noitora Jiruga.

The game commences.

He can see no traces of the roommate he's known attributable to the person he's playing with now. Grimmjow is brimming with athletic brilliance, while he, Ichigo, is simply struggling to comply with the demands of the game. As a result he starts to deem himself so insignificant, so notably short of tenacity, and so empty of variety that he can scarcely focus in the game. Feeling impelled to concentrate hard, he allows his mind to sink in to repose_. What the fuck am I doing? This is my last chance, my last hope, and I'm screwing it up like a moron_—

Someone throws the ball at him, and upon impulse, upon pure instinct, he tosses the ball from 23 feet downtown. Swack. Nothing but net. He makes the first basket for the team. He can't quite tell what has just happened, but he can make out Renji and Kira screaming their lungs out from somewhere.

"Nice one." Grimmjow tells him, to which he smiles just in time to hear Noitora perform a series of verbal abuse on his team.

They get back on defense as he recovers his long lost nerves. Despite the fact that the playing team members are not to exercise any form special favor toward qualifiers, Grimmjow seems to be giving him more opportunities for the basket than anyone on the team.

The whistle blows to announce the end of the first half. They're down by two buckets. On the bench, Hanatarou hands him a bottle of water while Hitsugaya throws him his towel.

"I must say, you ain't half bad." Renji comments.

"Thanks. How far along am I?"

"4 baskets in all, that's 9 points 'cos one's a 3-pointer. I think you really can do this." Hanatarou says, beaming widely.

"What about my defense?"

"One steal, a couple of blocks. It's a good figure."

"I see. Gotta try harder. Thanks everyone."

The game resumes.

He's finally found his edge. Yes, he resolves to play alongside Grimmjow Jaggerjack and to deliver the best assistance he could muster. As ball-hogging was never in his practice, and though scoring is perhaps his strongest suit, he decides to make do with unselfish plays. And so over the span of 10 minutes he will have delivered three marvelous assists to the captain, resulting to alley-oops.

He is getting on Noitora's nerves.

At a certain point, Ichigo takes possession of the ball again, and when he bends his legs to shoot, Noitora Jiruga comes diving at him from a huge distance, making the whole impact of their fall painfully strong. With that in play, a collective gasp issues forth from the spectators' mouths, so that the referee's whistle pierces across the hall to shake them off the commotion.

But Renji Abarai, completely revolted by the scene, is no less scandalized than if he had been Nnoitora's victim. He cries in utter opposition, looking absolutely mentally deranged, "BASTARD! You did that on purpose!" Everyone's head turns to his direction, and before he knows it he has crossed a distance of two meters from the sideline.

Noitora rolls his eyes dismissively. "Where's the truth in that accusation?" He inquires.

Coach Zaraki has stood up. Upon catching the coach's gesture of reproach, Kira and Sado Yasutora make haste to restrain the redhead.

"Please excuse us, coach." Sado mutters apologetically to Coach Zaraki as he helps Kira press Renji back into the bleachers.

Ichigo can feel that his back is getting sore, "Damn." He mutters. He looks up the vice captain, only to find him curling his mouth in sheer derision. Before the sinister senior can express his sentiments, however, the team captain comes elbowing him from the side. He then holds out his hand for Ichigo to take.

"You okay?" Grimmjow asks in what appears to be mild concern, helping his roommate to his feet.

"I'm fine."

"Okay. You'll have two free-throw shots."

The orange-head nods and scurries off to the free throw line. Meanwhile, Grimmjow grabs the hem of Noitora's neckline and pulls his face closer to his.

"Are you trying to injure a potential ace, Jiruga?" He asks in a predatory, menacing tone, his hands still clamping his teammate's jersey.

Noitora slaps the captain's hand away from his neck in brute force, "That's some serious accusation, _captain_. Besides, 'ace' is a strong word; may I suggest you use appropriate terms—" He says in a sort of mockery before he gets cut off,

"—may I fucking remind you that—"

"What in bloody fuck are you two doing?" Booms a voice from behind. It's the coach. Deeming it necessary to disengage the best players in his team, he grabs the two seniors by the shoulders and wrenches them apart. "There will be no fighting in this team unless I command you to. Now piss off; I'm benching both of you."

Grimmjow buries a mortally poisonous glare at Noitora after which he grudgingly stomps off the floor and onto the bench sidelines. In like manner, the vice-captain rolls his eyes at the coach before following his teal-haired teammate.

The game resumes with only eight minutes left. By this time, Ichigo has lost quite an amount of his momentum because of the fall. Nevertheless, he's made the most number of steals and rebounds among all the candidates.

The game ends with his team being the victor. Ichigo thanks the entire team, his eyes for the most part falling on his roommate, who is currently arranging his stuff in his duffel bag. For one thing, he wants to approach Grimmjow to tell him how impressed he is by his game. But the senior has his face pasted on his activity and appears to be not in the mood for anything. Before long he slings his bag over his shoulder and strutted off to the exit unannounced.

Ichigo forgets about this bizarre encounter when his lot comes skipping steps to his direction to congratulate him with his performance.

...

Ichigo stealthily twists the doorknob of his dormitory room. Employing the whole of his vigilance to maintain a silent entrance, he notices from the gap between the floor and the door that the lights are out. His roommate must be sleeping by now. Nevertheless, he enters, only to find Grimmjow's silhouette basking against the moonlight.

"Er, good evening, sempai. Are you going to bed—"

"You were brilliant, Kurosaki."

The freshman can feel heat rising up his cheeks. This is what he has intended to avoid; facing his roommate after the tryouts,

"Thanks, sempai."

"You busy tonight?"

"No. It's Friday."

"Good. Let's go out." Grimmjow offers. Ichigo's heart paces up to an insane rate.

"Out where?"

"I dunno. I need a drink."

"Er, I don't think we're allowed to do that." The freshman hears himself say.

"And you're gonna let them be the boss of you?" The senior says as he draws closer to the freshman.

"No."

...

It must be noted here that Grimmjow Jaggerjack's alcohol tolerance is verging on non-existent, and Kurosaki Ichigo has to learn of it first-hand.

They have so far downed a total of two cups of sake each. Having said that, the senior's head is now lolling at his side, as if threatening to roll off the floor with the slightest push.

"Er, sempai, maybe we should call it a night. You're completely—"

"Bastard."

"Huh?"

"I _don't_ mean you."

"Oh. You talking about Noitora-sempai?"

"Nah. He's a bastard, but he's completely ignorable and…" The senior takes another gulp of alcohol.

Ichigo looks around furtively to find no familiar face in sight. And what did he expect? They're in a pub, for Christ's sake!

"Uhm, who's the bastard?" He asks Grimmjow.

"Ulquiorra is."

"Is he really?"

"FYI, yes. Totally. He's a mood-conking asshole."

"Did he, like, do something to offend you?"

"Yeah. A whole damn lot of shit he's pulled on me. I mean, he can just tell me when and how he plans to die because I can do a damn lot of helping in the manual preparations and the schedule."

Ichigo eyes his drunk senior calculatingly. While the likelihood of his roommate's claims can easily be ascertained, there still no clear hint of the specifics at plain sight. Hence with nothing but curiosity, he asks,

"Care to enumerate the shit he's pulled on you?"

Grimmjow thrusts a cup of sake on his roommate's chest,

"Take a drink."

"I'd rather not."

"Come on, Berry."

Ichigo reluctantly receives the cup and drinks it. "Er, why're you hating Ulquiorra-sempai so much?" He pursues, and he's getting tipsy already too. He wonders how the hell are they gonna get to the dormitory cleanly.

"That, Ichigo, is a matter of personal stuff…nah. I'll tell you anyway." The senior says in a barely comprehensible slang. With alcohol attending to his mouth, he explains with attempted coherence as best as he can,"He's just the type of guy who goes like '_I've nothing to do with you anymore yada yada yada_' after you've just about gone into bed with him. What an absolute douchebag!"

Ichigo's mouth hangs open. "You mean to say that's what his former girlfriends have told you?"

"Never mind. You're too young to understand."

"Sempai—"

Grimmjow has passed out.

...

It takes him tenfold the labor and twice the distance to get back to the dormitory, what with his senior snoring at his expense. To his credit, he's managed to drag him a total of 100 meters, which felt like a million, from the dormitory gates up to the front door. Now all he has to do is climb four gorgeous flights of stairs on the sure premise that the elevator stops functioning at exactly nine in the evening. And as the clocktower plainly stated it was already way past midnight the last time he checked, he carefully twists the entrance doorknob with special care.

"I suppose you have a good explanation to this." Says a voice from the darkness. Ichigo's chest threatens to tear apart.

"W-who's there?"

The mystery person turns the light on. Stark is standing forlornly in the hallway. He may have been initially displeased but as soon as he sees the pair his eyes go wide upon the sight of the wasted senior on Ichigo's side.

"Whoa, is that Jack?"

"Er, sempai, we—"

Stark hops in to take a closer look at his fellow senior.

"Man, he's totally wasted! Lemme guess, Red Pony?"

"Huh?"

"You drank at Red Pony. Man, I miss having a drink there." Stark says, letting his eyes wander off to a long winding reminiscence.

"Er, yeah, that's the name of the place. Say, sempai, why're ya still up?"

"Fell asleep in the waiting lounge. I just woke up."

"Oh. Uhm. We can take punishments tomorrow. For now, can we take a rest? I have this awesome headache—"

"Never mind. I'm neither Szayel nor Scheiffer anyway. You can go to your room now."

Ichigo gapes at the senior as though the latter has a lot going on to be gawked at.

"Are you serious?"

"Like, yeah."

"Thanks a bunch. But, uhm, I can't carry him up to the fourth floor…"

"Man! This guy's such a burden! I wonder why you're putting up with him!" Stark complains before grabbing the sleeping Grimmjow by his feet.

"We're faring along just fine." Ichigo informs the senior as he grabs his roommate by the arms.

They finally reach their quarter.

"I don't know how to thank you." The freshman tells Stark.

"Sheesh. Anyway, don't get too close to him while he's stoned drunk; you might get pregnant. Ciao."

Ichigo stands like an abandoned idiot for a good two minutes as he watches Stark trot off. In time he gathers the composure to drag his roommate to his rightful bed. He then takes a shower.

When he reemerges to the room, he finds Grimmjow awake and seated on the far end of his bed, staring blankly into space.

"You're awake. You should rest; your head must be a mess."

Grimmjow does not answer. Instead, he stands up and advances toward the freshman clumsily. Not only are his lids drooping lazily but also his pupils are in danger of rolling off his forehead anytime soon. Really, it's quite a wonder how someone sleeping can be so awake.

"D-d'you need something—"

Ichigo does not finish his appeal, for Grimmjow's mouth comes swooping to his. And without knowing how it all comes about and what's to come afterwards, Ichigo receives his first kiss.

**TBC**


	7. Midnight Brawl

Chapter 7: Midnight Brawl

Ichigo wants nothing more than to freeze this moment in time. It's like all the impurities in his body have been purged by some alien contact. Though he deems it too early to develop this type of attachment to his roommate, there's simply no denying that what he feels is no less than infatuation. And so he, being unable to exercise restraint in this so great an opportunity, returns the kiss with an equal amount of passion until the senior is stripped of his motion.

He extricates himself from Grimmjow's arms. Of course he has fallen back asleep; he's drunk, for crying out loud. He then, with feelings of reluctance, lay Grimmjow down gently before securing him beneath a blanket. Finally, he takes on his bed and tries to sleep. And try he does.

...

"Don't look at me like that." Renji tells Ichigo.

"I didn't sleep a fucking wink last night." The orange-head replies dejectedly, his eyes looming frighteningly tired aside from being unnaturally red.

"You're lucky it's a Saturday today. Anyway, will ya turn the other way? Your bloodshot is scaring the shit outta me."

"Jeez. Talk about being inconsiderate." The orange-head retaliates.

"What were you doing last night?" Toushiro asks out of sheer curiosity.

Ichigo chokes on his bread, "Went out for a drink."

Kira, Ishida, Hanatarou, and Sado, who seconds ago were having their own conversation, gawk at Ichigo.

"Of course you didn't. If a professor finds out, they will expel you." Hanatarou argues.

"Of course we did. Ask your roommate." Ichigo answers.

"Really, mate, with whom did you go out?"

"Jag-sempai." Ichigo says and takes a sip off his coffee.

"Whoa." Renji says pensively before continuing, "You two _dating_?"

The contents of Ichigo's mouth go spewing in showers of brown liquid as memories of last night come swooping down his mind. Kira, being the victim of the spray of coffee courtesy of Ichigo's mouth, groans, and wipes his face.

"Sorry about that, Kira. Dammit, Renji, do me a favor and don't be a fucktard." Ichigo says in between a surfeit of panting and coughing.

"What? Jeez, I'm only asking."

"They're posting the tryout results today, after lunch, right?" Ishida asks.

"Right. Darn, I'm anxious like hell."

...

The day advances to its afternoon state. In the meantime, Ichigo and Renji are sprinting meter by meter towards the stadium, as if racing for their lives.

"Got here first!" Renji announces in a childish excitement as they touch down the stadium's entrance.

"You shoved my head down the elevator shaft, moron."

"Whatever…now where is that god-forsaken paper?"

A student appears in sight; oh no, make that a hundred students. The one leading the way, Ichigo recognizes, is one of the basketball players. He is holding a printout of what cannot be other than the tryout results. It so then becomes apparent that the long-awaited paper is in no way god-forsaken.

Before the orange-head can exhibit his huge anxiety, Renji makes a series of relentless tugs on the sleeves of his shirt. "Oh, man, good luck."

His nervousness is partly staunched by the fact that the team captain, the vice-captain, and the coach are nowhere to be seen. And when the basketball player pins the paper on the cork board, simultaneously a sea of students overwhelms the two as they are pushed farther and farther away from their object of interest.

"Sons of bitches!" The redhead yells in a futile struggle in contending to get a good look at the accursed paper.

"Leave it, Renji. We have plenty of time to drink in that goddamn paper when all these losers have evaporated." Ichigo tells him. As he says this his five other friends come into view. They wait in patience as little by little the crowd thins out. Finally, the number of students is reduced to ten.

**Ichigo Kurosaki** is printed at the bottom of the list. He heaves a deep sigh as though he has just gone over a dreadful ordeal.

"Happy now?" Toushiro asks.

"I'm more obliged to say 'relieved'." He answers.

He's still staring at the paper in an ecstatic disbelief. Before their little celebration ensues, he feels a shadow darken the spot where he's standing.

"I guess it can't be helped." An awfully familiar voice says.

Ichigo turns around to find his face leveled with his roommate's Adam's apple. He can even smell a strong scent of Hugo Boss dangling on Grimmjow's chest. Once again, they're physically too close for his comfort, although this time it's not exactly as close as last night when their lips actually touched…

Ichigo leaps stupidly away.

"Cool down, Berry. Hey, you're my roommate, and now my _teammate._ Ain't it swell?"

"I suppose I'm—"

"—happy you made it to the team?" The senior finishes his sentence for him. There's no presence of discomfort or disorientation in his manner of speaking and behavior, which should've been afforded by last night's incident. _He clearly doesn't remember a shit of it all_, Ichigo concludes.

"Y-yeah. Uhm, I gotta bounce, see ya!" Ichigo zooms out of sight.

"Eh! Ichigo, we have practice today!" The senior hollers after him before turning to the freshman's friends, highly confused, "Is something wrong with your friend?"

"A lot of things, if you must know." Toushiro answers.

"Well, then, tell him to get his ass back here on court where it belongs because I'm propping him up for team and game-play orientation."

...

_What in bloody fuck is the matter with me?! _

_Nothing, really, it's just that you kissed a guy, and, despite its being more than you could've handled, you liked it a damn lot, tongue action and all, like, a fucking lot._

Ichigo clutches clumps of his orange hair with his hands. To his horror, he finds that he can barely make the pieces of his scattered mind to come to terms. Right now, he has locked himself in a toilet cubicle, while some students are wondering what on earth is keeping this someone too long to take a dump. After what must have been a lifetime, he kicks the cubicle door open and stalks off to the cafeteria. There he finds his pals.

"Superstar is here!" Renji calls to him.

"What in hell's name was that all about? Are you allergic to your roommate?" Ishida asks Ichigo.

"No. I was just er, uhm—"

"Grimmjow-san wants your presence down there; he said _your_ training day starts today." Toushiro reports.

The orange-head studies his friend with a peculiar glare, perhaps waiting for him to reveal the punch-line of this joke.

"Me? Go back _there_? Like, now?"

"This instant, yeah."

"Oh, man."

...

Ichigo blinks twice before processing the scene before him. What he can make out is, the stadium is practically in complete absence of any presence except that of a teal-haired, tall, impressionable senior. Having processed that much, or that little, he deduces what can possibly occur if he steps inside the gym. Embarrassment is a probability while nervousness is a certainty. Nevertheless, he steps inside.

"There you are. Why did ja run out on me like that? Kinda hurt my feelings ya know." Grimmjow says, feigning disappointment. He shoots a hoop, and then and there shows the world how perfect his jump shots are. Ichigo, nervous as he is, can't help noticing that Grimmjow grows twice as handsome, twice as virile in fact, when he makes for a shot.

"I-er, needed to use the toilet." Ichigo lies.

"I see. Come here for a moment."

The freshman assertively draws closer to where his senior is.

Grimmjow resumes his talk, "The truth is, you got the highest mark in our evaluation. Even Jiruga gave you a high one."

"R-really?"

"Really. Now I want to introduce you to the tour de force you're gonna be in before you dive in, unheeding. First up, I'm the team captain here. Having said that, I won't lead you astray, and I hope to do what's best for the team, therefore the best for each and every player, therefore again, the best for _you_." Grimmjow pauses to give room for what he has just said to sink in. Ichigo, for his part, feels a warm sensation crawl on his face. The senior continues, "The coach is a very skillful man, and though he normally expects the best of possibilities he is a good man. It's pretty easy to get along with everyone, except perhaps with Jiruga, but he's just a petty nuisance anyway. Now, I have seen you play. Your game yesterday was enough testimony for me to give you a slot in the starting line-up—"

"—holy cow!" Ichigo cannot stop himself.

"Yes. I'm a generous captain, remember?"

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

Just then a dribbling of a ball is heard from the entrance of the building. Noitora Jiruga has arrived.

"Am I disturbing a sweet moment of peace?" The vice-captain asks.

He just did, Ichigo thinks.

"Just a captain and subordinate moment." Grimmjow answers.

The vice-captain smirks, "Want a rematch, Jacky?"

"I've no time for your idiocy, much less be your cohort in it."

"Perhaps if I dive at this orange-haired brat again, you'll get all protective—"

"Do you have a fucking problem with me, Jiruga?" Grimmjow hisses, concealing his abhorrence not very successfully. As things are, Ichigo is fighting the urge to drive a goddamn ball in full force to the cocky senior's crotch.

"Let's see, perhaps the fact that you _exist_ proves to be a major inconvenience for me."

"Self-absorbed prick." Ichigo says, fully aware that the first reaction is not entitled to him.

"You got yourself a fan-boy, _captain_?" Noitora asks his fellow senior in fascination, emphasizing the last word with a slow pronunciation.

"You leave him out of this." Grimmjow warns.

"Well, I don't blame you; you're _overly_ good-looking and all, so perhaps _that_ reason alone is responsible for your captaincy."

"Now you listen here, you snake of a goddamn jerk—" Ichigo bursts forth in an ardent start, only to have Grimmjow pull him back by the arm.

"Ichigo, don't lower yourself with such a pathetic—"

"He's—sempai, he's a goddamn fucker who's bitter about losing the captain title to you; any moron can tell that much."

"You're right. But _this _goddamn fucker is_ our_ teammate. There's no arguing in my team."

Ichigo settles down. Noitora, on the other hand, lets out a mirthless, high-pitched laugh.

"You think I _lost_ the title to him?" The vice-captain asks Ichigo before continuing, "Why don't you ask him how he managed to snatch that name. Go on."

The freshman keeps his glare steadfastly locked on the vice-captain, "Thanks, but I'm _not_ interested in your story, and I doubt if Grimmjow-sempai here is interested in wasting a goddamn spit in narrating a tale with you in it. If you're just here to annoy us, allow me to inform you that you just about succeeded big time. You happy now?" Ichigo finishes. Noitora's eyes narrow down to half their breadth, while Grimmjow cannot simply help but to stare transfixed at his new teammate.

"Hah. Scum. One-on-one?" the offended Noitora provokes the freshman.

"My pleasure." Ichigo says venomously and stretches his limbs in preparation for the offered match.

Grimmjow rubs his forehead in exhaustion, "Stop. Jiruga, get the fuck out of my sight. Go home for fuck's sake. Ichigo, stop those warm-ups; you're not doing a one-on-one." He says, postponing Ichigo's warm-ups.

"I suppose captain's worried about _his_ precious favorite, huh?"

"Quit yapping already, big mouth." The freshman snaps.

"Well, Jack, meet me at the rooftop at midnight. We'll settle this once and for all. See ya later, yuppies." Noitora says before leaving in an excellent mood.

The pair watches him slink away in agitation.

"_Don't_. Don't ever talk back at him. You—we—don't know what he's capable of. Next time he throws dirt on you, let me handle it."

"He's capable of making a wanking jerk out of himself, that's for sure."

Grimmjow smirks at this comment. "I didn't know you had a potty mouth. You're full of cheek too, know that?"

"Everyone gets cocky sometimes. Say, sempai, you're not going to meet him at the rooftop later on, are you?"

"He's not worth my time."

...

_He's not worth my time, that's what he says, but demonstrates the contrary. _Ichigo's mind is reeling in a hectic pace upon discovering that his roommate has left his goddamn bed to attend to something he claims he shouldn't be wasting time on. It's five minutes past midnight.

"Lying idiot." Ichigo mutters under his breath as he hurries up the rooftop.

He finds the two basketball players engaged in an intense staring match. At length, Noitora speaks,

"I thought I was a waste of your lovely time?"

"I realized I'd do anything if you just for once in your miserable life refrain from being an unfuckable bastard."

Noitora chuckles and spots the freshman, "We've got company."

Grimmjow swivels around to see his roommate standing defiantly behind him.

"Ichigo, please go back to your room. Now."

"No. You're not doing this. You said—"

"—something has to be done. Do you not understand that? This animosity, this endless dispute between me and this bastard has reached a point where ignoring it would not do us any good. I just realized that it's hard to coexist with someone as unsalvageable a fucker as he is. This is beyond my tolerance. There's no holding back anymore, no holds barred. Now please, stay out of this." Grimmjow makes a request.

Noitora claps his hands. "Nice speech, captain. Shall we?"

Before he knows it, two fearsome beasts are on each other's throat, exhausting all their might for a singular attempt. They probably really want to kill each other. Ichigo stands there, watching in horror as both the seniors utilize all their strength to deliver lethal fist blows to one another. Soon, droplets of blood start to trickle down his roommate's mouth while Jiruga is sporting a bruised cheek and a black eye. Gradually, it becomes clear to Ichigo that this is not simply an uncomplicated case of resolving a previous feud by physical prowess; the two are beating the crap out of each other to a bloody pulp until neither is capable of further movements. Needless to say this has completely gone out of hand, his present mortification is giving him no aid. If Ichigo perseveres to stop them and tries to wrench them apart, he may get caught in a full-blown brawl and have himself injured.

But the access to the rooftop reveals another presence; Szayel Apollo Grantz happens to be scouting the building as a part of his nightly stroll.

"What in the world…?"

The freshman turns around to catch the bewildered senior.

"Grantz-sempai, help me stop them."

Szayel swallows hard before nodding. He follows Ichigo's lead in prying the two to separation, which proves to be a job befitting of Achilles. When all is done, Grimmjow unleashes his middle finger at his vice-captain, who is wriggling desperately out of Szayel's grip.

The pink-haired composes himself and declares fiercely, "Do not move. You two gits can still walk, right? I'm taking you to the infirmary, and there we'll decide your dues. There'll be no talking on the way there. Jesus, such barbarity. One would think Ice Age was over." He finishes in disgust.

Grimmjow spits an ample amount of blood. "We're not finished yet. Tomorrow, I'll take you on when no one's in to rescue your goddamn neck." He tells Noitora.

"I'll wait for it, then." Jiruga answers.

"Meet you there and fuck you."

...

Isane Kotetsu, the school nurse, clasps her mouth upon receiving the two patients.

"What just happened?" She asks, looking utterly petrified.

"Street brawl." Ichigo lies, which Szayel confirms by nodding.

The two are given a pleasant treatment and are asked to lie down and stay the night. At last, Szayel makes a motion to leave, but pulls to an abrupt halt upon reaching the door.

Ulquiorra Scheiffer has arrived.

"What's the meaning of this?" He asks in a formally inquisitive tone.

"They're getting treatments, what does it look like?" The pink-haired senior answers.

"And why?"

"Because they're injured, _obviously_."

"After breaking numerous school rules, you're giving them treatments?" Ulquiorra solicits.

"I repeat; they're _injured_. Have you ordered for a pair of reading glasses?"

"Throw them into the detention hall. _Now_."

"Scheiffer, we can arrange for that later on when their conditions—"

"We do not tolerate rash behavior under this roof, Szayel, no matter what the circumstances are; I believe you're aware of that very well."

It is Ichigo who speaks, "Since when have punishment preceded students' welfare?!"

Ulquiorra looks at the freshman from head to toe, "When, you ask? How about now? I'll be dropping by the detention hall in an hour, Szayel. If I arrive in an empty chamber, _you're_ gonna answer to that." The haughty senior finishes and pegs away.

Grantz clenches his fists as Ulquiorra clears out.

"Pompous filth." The pretty senior says angrily.

"Sempai, what's gonna happen to Jag-sempai and Noitora?"

"You heard what the high and mighty boss said. Damn."

**TBC**


	8. Fever

Chapter 8: Fever

"It's Kurosaki-kun, right?" Apollo Grantz asks.

"Yeah."

"I want you to stay here for a moment and make sure these two delinquents don't go near each other; I want them each in one piece when I get back. In the meantime, I'll prepare the detention hall. See you in a while."

"Sempai, I really have a bad feeling about—"

"It's okay; I do too. I'm locking the detention hall."

Ichigo looks up at Grantz without quite knowing which expression to assume.

"Locking the detention hall?"

"It's the best I can do. Scheiffer's being ridiculous, perhaps on account of the late hour. I reckon he'd change his mind sooner or later. After all, we're talking about Grimmjow here; I'm sure he's bound to be a little more considerate on Jack's account. I'll just tell him it's locked and I lost the key somewhere."

The senior whisks past the door in considerable haste. Grimmjow is sleeping soundly at the window-side quarter in white sheets. Barely aware of his actions, Ichigo sluggishly wedges himself beside his roommate's bed and draws out the curtains. Noitora has probably passed out as well, which provides the clinic a ringing silence. And as the nurse is doing paper works on her table he and Grimmjow might as well have been in full privacy.

The freshman watches his senior in an almost longing observation. He surveys his face. Serenity wouldn't have done it justice; his beauty alone can be delegated with higher praises. No, it's more than that; what he sees is an enigma. But now Grimmjow's eyebrows are writhing, indicating discomfort, prompting Ichigo to take a feel of his forehead. He's burning with fever.

"Uhm, Isane-san, would you take a look at this?" The freshman calls for the nurse.

The tall medic abandons her current occupation and checks on the senior.

"Yes, he has a high fever. I've already fixed some prescriptions to counter it."

"Did he transmit it from the fight?"

"That doesn't happen very often. Perhaps he's getting very little sleep lately, judging from the rings under his eyes…"

"Oh."

"You can retire to your dormitory now; I'll look after them." She says kindly.

"I think I'll stay for awhile."

Isane gets back on her post. Ichigo draws the curtains back and sits beside the bed. He resumes his musings on his roommate, to find himself examining the features of that face. He must be going out of his goddamn mind. Evidently enough, he is driven to the ends of his wits, for he now starts to lean closer and closer to his senior's face.

"Well, sempai, I must be going insane." He whispers softly as his face descends on his senior's. He can feel his warm breath coursing from those partly sundered lips. Vaguely, though somehow clearly, a certain emotion from before is surging up his chest; he'd like to get another taste of that mouth. And so he leans in inch by inch without the slightest delay. He's so near now that it's becoming too unnerving. So near to kiss. He then allows his lips to guide him to the direction they desire. Predictably, he withdraws. "Yare, yare, I'm terrible. I'm stealing something sacred from you." He tells the sleeping Grimmjow and shakes his head.

He hears a rustle from the other end of the room; Szayel has returned.

"I had it arranged." The senior tells Ichigo.

"Thanks, sempai."

"It's late. Let's head back to the dormitory."

The freshman takes a good look at his sleeping roommate before nodding.

On their way back to the dormitory,

"Sempai, why did you cover up for Grimmjow-sempai?"

The senior pitches a quick glance at the orange-head.

"Can't be helped. Jack can be pretty tough to discipline, but he's still my fellow senior. Besides, though I may be cruel sometimes, I'm never merciless, ever."

"I just don't understand Ulquiorra-sempai at all." The freshman comments.

"No one understands him. Perhaps Jack did, back when they were—" The senior's voice fades to a faint gulp. Noting it with alertness, Ichigo can't quite distinguish how the sentence would have ended.

"Back when they were what?"

"Forget you heard anything. In any case, it's a good thing you walked in on them—"

"Was there something between them? Ulquiorra-sempai and Jag-sempai? _Is_ there?"

"I assure you it's nothing to be curious about." The pink-haired says, trying to maintain a casual tone so as not to hint anything. His efforts, however, result to the complete opposite of what he intends to achieve.

"Come on, tell me." Ichigo pleads, his voice escalating to a volume not suitable for the evening.

Szayel sighs, finally giving up, and begins narrating the history of the two formidable seniors. "You're his roommate, right? Alright, a few background checks won't hurt. Here goes; They were roommates in their first year. They became really close, like, noticeably attached to one another. Right from the start, there was this expanse of difference between them that made them favorably complementary to each other, you know, what with Scheiffer being a goddamn mute and Jack a complete blabbermouth. In a way, they kinda changed each other. By the second semester, Scheiffer can be caught doing an actual socializing while Jack stopped bullying and harassing other people. That went on for quite a while. You see, in our second year they were assigned to separate rooms, but somehow they found a way to get their proper roommates to switch rooms, so again they ended up being roommates. And then, all of a sudden, they grew out of each other. That took place around the second half of our second year, just last year. And now they're not in speaking terms. So there, that just about summarizes the whole of it." The senior finishes.

Ichigo contemplates hard on what he has just heard. Although he would rather not admit it, walls around his heart start to tighten to an uncomfortable state. He asks, not knowing if he wants to hear the answer entirely, "So, they were really _something_?"

"You can say that, but I don't think that's applicable to them now."

"D-d'you think they were—pardon my directness—in love, perhaps?" the freshman asks cautiously, presuming nevertheless that he has transparently ventured on a delicate ground.

The senior turns his magnificent head at the freshman, "_That_, Kurosaki-kun, is not my story to tell."

Ichigo has expected the other to be taken aback by his naïve indiscretion. Instead, Szayel appears to regard his question as not a complete absurdity.

"I—yesterday, he seemed really troubled and was ranting about Ulquiorra-sempai. I figured he must be somehow affected by what's currently going on between them, or the absence thereof…"

"Jack actually opened up to you?" Szayel asks, making it sound like what he has just heard is wholly lacking in credibility.

"Yeah, kinda. He was tired from the game, wasn't in full possession of his intelligence and all." Ichigo lies; telling this student officer that they'd gone off drinking alcohol might earn him a chair in the detention all.

"Hmmm… strange. If that's the sad case, you should give your roommate a few comforts and cheer him up; you know, tell him Scheiffer is a git who knows nothing better to do than to break other people's heart—"

"So it's affirmative then; they used to be together?" Ichigo asks, wide-eyed. He doesn't notice that his face is now looming only 4 inches away from the pretty senior.

Szayel resumes his steps, "I'm not answering that." He says resolutely.

"Oh, come on, you just about blurted ¾'s of it that you might as well write a documentary about them."

"Oh for Christ's sake, Kurosaki, you're not squeezing any shit from me and that's it."

"Watch me." The freshman answers bluntly.

"My, you're as stubborn as your roommate. No wonder he's been labeled contagious."

"Were they lovers?"

"My mouth is zipped. Sorry."

"Here's the deal; I'm pulling Uuryu Ishida from the Archery Team and in no time he'll be riding it off over to your Debate Club, how's that?"

Szayel eyes him suspiciously before muttering a faint "Deal sealed."

...

Ichigo lies awake in his bed despite the stillness of the night. His heart, in contrast with his motionlessness, is in dire need of some sort of a suppressant. He imagines Ulquiorra Scheiffer and Grimmjow Jaggerjack together. If anything, they're a match made in heaven. Most popular jock in school meets coolness incarnate. There'll be no room for a freshman punk, whose mediocrity exceeds all expectations, to make it to the scene. Such thoughts swirl in his head in a relentless profusion until he drops asleep.

He awakes on a bright Sunday afternoon. He checks his watch to find out he has slept a total of 11 hours. Before the sun reaches its orange state, he finds himself traipsing the lawn surrounding the infirmary.

Grimmjow Jaggerjack is seated upright on the clinic bed. He nods at Ichigo upon seeing him.

"How're ya feeling?"

"Swell. You must be mad at me." The senior assumes.

"For what?"

"For causing you all the trouble. I don't regret any of it, except that I failed to pack Jiruga in a casket and that now he's still alive and walking. Among other things, I suppose I owe you an apology."

"You don't owe me a thing, though it would please me if you try to get better."

Grimmjow stares off the window to somewhere far.

"You must think I'm a lousy captain. I'm a lousy senior, a lousy roommate, and now I'm your lousy teammate who also happens to be your inescapable captain." Grimmjow recites in a solemn voice.

"Sheesh. You're romanticizing it."

"Romanticizing?"

"Yeah. You make a big deal of it as if it's some unpardonable mistake when it's pretty understandable."

The senior disengages his faraway gaze from the window and faces his roommate, who almost gives a start.

"I—I should've set a better example; that's all I'm saying. Instead I beat the hell out of a teammate, which felt superb, mind you. I dragged you in it—"

"I said it's okay, sempai. I dragged myself in, remember? I raised my voice against Jiruga without listening to your warnings, and now we both hate him and he hates us both." Ichigo finishes with a merry ring to his voice.

"Ha ha, I guess we're really good at hating and being hated."

"I guess so. I brought you oranges." Ichigo says and produces half a dozen of oranges from the paper bag he's carrying.

"Sweet."

"Least I can do. Would you want me to take off now? Perhaps you need rest?"

"Yeah, you can go now; this room's a goddamn hell of a bore."

"You sure?"

"Get going now."

"I'll bring in more fruits for your recovery. Would you want anything in particular?"

It takes Grimmjow a lengthy moment to answer,

"I'd like a _strawberry_."

Ichigo nods and cracks a farewell smile before wheeling around to leave.

Grimmjow calls him back, "Dumby. Strawberry means _you_. Come by later, okay? I'm bored to hell."

Ichigo's body has gone stiff as strands of his hair stand on their ends. "Uhm, sure—of course I'm coming back and, er, I'll bring this strawberry back here, promise."

...

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"Criminey, Kurosaki, will you stand up from there? You're driving me nuts."

The orange-head rises from his knees and brushes his sleeves.

"Ishida, please? Archery club is boring; debate club is in!" Ichigo tells Uuryu Ishida in a manner that's verging on hysterics.

"If you must know, I'm so tired of the inactivity I usually involve myself with,. And, besides, I'm really good with a bow and arrows, and if you don't stop pestering me right at this moment, I might give a demonstration through _you_. But, more importantly, what makes you so attracted to my club/org preference?"

"I need to pry something from Szayel-sempai and, since he's got his evil eye on you to get you to join his debate club, I might as well help him to it."

"In short, you're bribing him at my expense."

"Yeah, if that's how ya wanna put it."

"No, can't do."

"I hate you."

"That makes you a first."

"Give it a rest, Ichigo." Toushiro pipes up.

"Aha! What about you, Toushiro? Wanna make it to the debate team?" Ichigo exclaims brightly as if to enthuse his pal into something super exciting.

"No. Don't beg, I beg you."

"What a bunch of joy-killing blokes!" Ichigo cries in frustration.

Meanwhile, Renji has come back from his football practice, looking as though someone has shoved his face in a pigpen. He dumps his duffel bag on the table before ranting, "Speaking of joy-killing blokes, your roommate has just about managed to make a controversy of the mess we soccer dudes made out of the hallway! He asked us to mop the entire goddamn ground floor! ARE YOU HEARING THIS, GUYS? This sweat ain't an athlete's due; it's what I got from scrubbing ten million pieces of ceramic tiles!" The redhead rambles at Toushiro.

"You talking about Ulquiorra-sempai?" The silver-head asks.

"Who else, duh."

"You're still kinda muddy. Why don't you take a goddamn shower? You stink a bit." Toushiro suggests as he inspects Renji from head to toe.

"Hmp. I so hate you right now. But I hate your roommate more, so don't sulk."

"Roger that." Hitsugaya says coolly.

"Hey, Renji, where's Szayel-sempai?" Ichigo asks.

"How would I know? He's probably trying on a prom dress right now or something. In any case, will ya help me out with carrying my stuff to my room? My back's aching like a bastard, courtesy of some joy-killing dick who happens to be the roommate of someone I so hate right now."

Kira, Sado, and Hanatarou chuckle.

"Alright." Ichigo agrees.

...

Renji's part of the room is calamitously dismantled. It stands in utter contrast against the other side of the room where Szayel Apollo Grantz's personal objects dwell.

"I'm telling you, that Ulquiorra is a moron under cover. Walking around, strutting like he's messiah, aargh!" Renji banters as he takes off from the shower, looking fresh and smelling nice.

"I'm sure he's a pompous prick, but I doubt he's a moron." Ichigo says, tossing Renji's soccer ball with his feet.

"Don't give a flying fuck. That doesn't make him less of a bastard." Renji says, believing himself justified to slander said senior for the inconvenience he received earlier. What he doesn't know is, his best friend, Kurosaki Ichigo, is on a worse plight with Ulquiorra. To hint on it, envy and jealousy are so ingeniously involved.

"Everyone thinks he's brilliant." The orange-head mutters indistinctly, though bitterness is not amiss.

"And I suppose 'everyone' excludes us? Maybe what you meant to say was, 'every moron'."

Ichigo laughs at this. At the back of his mind he imagines how Grimmjow Jaggerjack is included in the aforementioned 'everyone'.

"You done here? I've to pick up a few stuff for Jag-sempai."

"Yeah, yeah, we're off."

...

"They're putting me up for suspension for two days." Grimmjow tells Ichigo.

"Who's got you suspended?" Ichigo asks, his shoulders falling under the weight of the information.

"That sleek bastard Ulquiorra, most probably. I heard from the nurse he was here last night. Anyway, it could've been worse."

"Maybe. Here, brought you your berries." Ichigo hands him a plate of brightly red strawberries. Grimmjow flashes a fascinated grin.

"Cripes. You're really meticulous. I was joking about the berries. I'll finish them anyway, if it'll make ya happy."

Ichigo watches him as he devours the fruits one by one.

"When will you be out? I heard our official training sessions will start on Tuesday."

"I'll be out by then, come hell or high water or my wrath." The senior assures him.

"I wish. Hey, sempai, has anyone from the team come to visit you?"

"Yah. I shooed them away earlier. They ticked me off big time. They kept asking me stupid questions left and right and center like a bunch of fucked-up recorders, so I sent them away."

Ichigo stares at him dubiously, "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Morons get what they deserve."

Ichigo wonders if he is in a confidential intimacy kind of relationship with his senior. He wonders if it can develop to anything more than that. He wonders if proof of its possibility is the fact that Grimmjow had promptly asked him to come for a visit, while on the other hand he just about expelled his teammates, whom he had known for quite a time, from his presence.

"I don't wanna start training sessions without _you_." It shoots from his mouth unlooked for. He immediately probes his hand everywhere to get himself busy with something, to dispel the weight of what he has just said. _Me and my fuckingly gorgeous mouth_. He reprimands himself.

Grimmjow's eyebrows take an ascent. He then locks his eyes at the open window beseechingly, "Same here." his mouth says without attending to his wits.

Ichigo's mind departs from reality. What he has just heard is so pervasively implicit of something that points to flirting. Despite the ambiguity of it all, he tries to conjure a sound judgment of his senior's remark. It might have meant that he, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, doesn't want Ichigo to start training sessions without his guidance, or it could simply mean that he doesn't want the training sessions to commence while he's strapped in a hospital bed.

"I've to bounce now. Byakuya-sensei expects at least a 3-page summary of some shit tomorrow morning. I'll see you tomorrow in the afternoon." Ichigo says.

Grimmjow nods vacantly, seemingly disturbed.

When the door has closed behind him, the freshman allows his weight to fall on the wall, presses his palm on his forehead, and mutters to himself frustratingly, "What the fuck was I thinking?"

Inside the infirmary, the senior strokes his bangs up his forehead, clamps a portion of his hair with his hand, softly knocks on the bed's headboard using the back of his head thrice, and mutters the exact same thing, "What the fuck was I thinking?"

**TBC**

**A/N**: I am uploading this along with chapter 9 because this turns out pretty boring. Thanks for reading ;)


	9. Boys Do Fall in Love

Chapter 9: Boys Do Fall in Love

**A/N**: Mature contents ahead.

Tuesday has come. Monday has been brief and uneventful so, to somehow dispel that, he vows to make something out of this day. He heads back to his dormitory, and sure enough, Grimmjow Jaggerjack is emptying his duffel bag on his bed.

"Yosh, sempai, welcome back." Ichigo greets, his eyes determined to miss the senior's.

"Yosh." The senior waves back.

"You gonna participate in the run-through later?"

"I'm still in no mint condition, but I'll be there to play a little, definitely."

"That would be nice. I just checked in if you've signed out from the infirmary, and I forgot my math assignment somewhere." Ichigo says as he rummages his study table.

"I see. I'll just be in the stadium. Coach is screaming for me, they say."

"There." Ichigo says, finally getting his hands on his missing homework. "I'll see you later." He says and hops his way to the door.

"Ichigo."

"Yes?"

"Nothing. See you later."

...

Ichigo is walking over to his friends at the cafeteria when a pair of hands grabs him from behind, preventing him from getting his pals' attention. Without thinking twice he wrenches his collar free from the miscreant,

"What's the big idea, Renji?"

"We still have twenty gorgeous minutes 'til lunch break is over. In short, I need you to come with me."

"And why is that?"

"Well, honestly, you don't wanna know." Renji says as he starts to make his way down the deserted hall, expecting the orange-head to trail him.

"I don't wanna go to I don't wanna know." Ichigo refuses sternly.

"Okay, fine. You _pushed_ and you pushed and now I have to admit; I submitted my English assignment half a day late, so now that git Kuchiki wants me to fetch something from the auditorium which apparently is too heavy for one bloke to carry; that is to say, you're helping me hatch it up to that bastard. And when we get to his office, we're gonna chuck it right the hell on that pretty face of his and poof! Porcelain face gone."

"You're the one who was being low on punctuality, and you have the nerve to complain?" The orange-head says as they cover several meters of distance unknowingly.

"If you wanna side on that faggot, that's fine with me."

"Geez, you're such a short-tempered son of gun, aren't you?"

"I sure am."

They enter via back door of the stage for a better access to the stock room. Inside,

"What exactly are we looking for?" Ichigo asks his friend.

"A cello. I bet the bastard is some aspiring musician or something." Renji explains, busying his hands and tossing a number of boxes to the other end of the room.

"Dumbass. There's no goddamn cello here. Do you even know what it looks like? It's almost identical to a violin; only _four_ times larger. I can tell with one eye covered there's no goddamn cello in this stupid room."

"Why didn't you effing say so earlier? I've been searching my ass off—"

"What would you ever do without me? Tsk tsk."

But Renji freezes at the junction of the stage and the storage room. In turn, the suddenness of his action makes Ichigo bump on his back.

"What the hell is your problem? We have to find that goddamn cello, or else—"

Renji presses his palm on Ichigo's mouth violently, almost suffocating his friend, and puts up his index finger to his lips, indicating his urgent need of silence.

"Fuck!" the redhead says in a panicked whisper, "_Fuck_!"

"What?" Ichigo asks, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, looking half terrified and half annoyed.

Renji does not answer. Instead, he points a shaky finger at the small peeping gap at the door. Ichigo peeks through.

Kira Izuru and Hisagi Shuuhei are huddled in seclusion at the main entrance of the auditorium. To top it off, they are making out in a gradual pace, taking the time of their lives in doing so, or so it appears. With that established, Ichigo and Renji can hardly contain their aghast. They both sink down weakly to a seat, like a couple of soldiers suffering the aftermath of having been ravaged by a dozen goons.

"T—they're not, like, they're not kissing, are they?" Renji asks with trembling lips.

"No. They're making out and are fondling the hell out of each other." Ichigo answers, half his consciousness fleeing from him.

"Maybe—maybe those two are just a pair of apparitions; ya know, this place is kinda haunted—"

"Yeah and I'm a goddamn Egyptian Queen."

In time, however, they hear a door being slammed shut. Renji takes this as a signal to snatch a last peek at the audience area, to learn that Shuuhei and Kira have gone away.

"They're gone."

"Okay. The cello is right there on the stage. Let's get this over with."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"No, it's not okay!"

"Jesus, Renji, calm the fuck down. It's not like he's betrayed us or something—"

"Of course he has! That lying git—"

"Be reasonable, mate; he has a life of his own—"

"I fucking _asked_ him if he was going out with Hisagi-sempai, and then he went all-out defensive on me with denials. And now he's making out with him!" the redhead lashes out in unreasonable indignation.

Ichigo stands there, dumbfounded. "Y-you knew—I mean, you already had an inkling before that Kira has something for Hisagi-sempai?" he asks.

"Hell yeah."

"Why—how did you notice?" the orange-head asks weakly.

"He was sending signals up and down and everywhere in between, duh. He acts so dorky when Hisagi-sempai is within 10 meters of radial vicinity and, well, they look good together, stunning in fact, can't deny that, but he could've informed me beforehand!"

"Perhaps he's not yet ready. I mean, it's a big deal, Renji."

"Perhaps."

"Are you, like, ya know, open about this stuff? I mean him being _that_ way?"

Renji packs the cello in its case and heaves a sigh. "It's not like there's something wrong with being like that. There'd be no use shunning him or anything. I'm happy where he's happy, and, well, he could've told me earlier, so I wouldn't have to snoop around on him, painstakingly trying to figure him out. That's my one and only gripe" He finishes and he appears to have placated his former mood.

"Well, that's good."

"What about you, Ichigo, d'you think there's something wrong with that?"

Ichigo purses his lips, "No. It's perfectly fine with me."

...

The classes end at last. The seven freshmen branch out to their respective club areas after exchanging brief see-you-later's'.

Half of the team is convened inside, with coach Zaraki in the center of the commotion, towards which Ichigo sprints. Grimmjow, holding nothing against favoritism, holds out his hand for a high five.

The starting line-up is announced, and upon mention of Ichigo's name he receives a fine welcome from the team, thereby finding himself unable to contort his body to the necessary posture that spells gratitude.

The session starts with basic stretching. After 30 boring minutes of which, lifting and sprinting drills are imposed. He notices that Grimmjow and Noitora are being especially active and civil today, perhaps making up for their recent misbehavior. Shortly after, they exhaust their stamina in a full-blown match. Once again, fortune is smiling down on him, because he is teamed up again with the captain and against the vice-captain.

This time, they are given details of what is expected of them through the coach's thunderous bellowing. He then realizes that he needs quite a lot of getting used to in various team premises.

By the end of the day, every new team member becomes more or less wholly acquainted with the game essentials. At this point, Coach Zaraki has taken his leave, a few other players following his wake.

Ichigo squeezes his way to the locker room, only to realize that he doesn't wanna stuff himself in a roomful of sweaty dudes. And so he carries his feet back to the court proper and watches Noitora Jiruga throw in a series of jump-shots. He plays like a pro and is as tall as one too.

Several minutes later, a number of his teammates exit the stadium. Having ascertained this, he sticks his head to the locker room doorway to walk in on Grimmjow with only a small towel around his waist on. But before he can formulate mental opinions for the sight before him, Noitora Jiruga pushes him inside, sending him tumbling over his steps in the locker room and startling the captain.

"What in bloody fuck was that for?" The freshman blares at the vice-captain.

"You're in my way. Anyway, if you're gonna sneak around trying to get a good view of Jacky's crotch, you can—"

"Will you cut being a fucking fucker, Jiruga?" Grimmjow says through clenched teeth, evidently incensed.

"Why, captain Jacky is back to being a foul-mouthed bitch, huh?"

"A foul-mouthed bitch that's likely to murder a fucking fucker if you don't shut your goddamn trap." The captain elaborates.

"Since when have you started talking big, huh? One-on-one, right here, right now?" Noitora asks, spinning a ball with his middle finger.

Ichigo throws a nervous look at his roommate, fighting the urge to persuade him to decline. He fears that all of this only spells an impending doom, and so in no time his reserves deploy to a surfeit of disapproval,

"Are you nuts? It's way past bedtime. Ask him again when there's no reason to decline, so you don't get to accuse him of cowardice." The orange-head snarls at the senior.

"Ichigo, please step aside." He hears Grimmjow say calmly.

"What?"

"You heard me. If it's war he wants, war he shall get. I'll crush this adamant bastard right here, right now."

Noitora breaks into a shrilly, wild laughter for Ichigo to suspect that the vice-captain is within an inch of getting a seizure. Surprisingly, Grimmjow Jaggerjack joins Noitora's laughter, exuding an unparalleled amount of malice.

He knows the game ethics only too well. A one-on-one basketball match requires no audience. If anything, it forbids the presence of any spectator. The reason for that is, there's only one person at the end of each opponent, making the blame of the losing party or the glory of the winning one too personal a matter to be expounded or looked into. Come to think of it, a one-on-one match is a personal match, a _highly_ personal match.

Ichigo shuts the stadium's entrance and stations himself outside. He can vaguely hear the continuous bouncing of the ball from where he is. It seems that not knowing what's going on magnifies the actual intensity of the situation. Waiting outside in patience and in absolute immobility, numberless things come dawning on him like arrows from afar. He wants to flee, yet he needs to stay. He wants to witness the grandness of what he's missing, but surmises that if he were permitted to do so he'd cover his eyes.

Thirty minutes ebb away. The door swings open to accommodate Noitora Jiruga and almost in the same instant Ichigo sprouts up swiftly. But he can't make out what the senior's face indicates, and the shadows are accountable for it. And so knowing nothing more than that the match has ended, Ichigo sprints back inside the stadium to find it empty. Jiruga has headed back to his dormitory without a word, leaving him weaving empty conjectures of the game's outcome.

Grimmjow is taking a shower. Ichigo discerns that the shower lever is turned into its full force, courtesy of the sound shooting out the cubicle. _He_ _must_ _be drowning himself_, he thinks. He stands worriedly and in an anticipating agitation in front of the shower cubicle. Much later, Grimmjow kicks the door open, shaking it violently down to its hinges. Aside from the listlessness in his countenance, he's wearing his complete practice attire which is, of course, drenching wet, thereby marking the likelihood of loss. Brown eyes meet blue eyes.

"I lost."

Ichigo knows better than to offer useless sympathy. "Let's go, sempai."

"I should forfeit captaincy."

Ichigo's eyes narrow to half their size. "Don't say stupid things like that. Let's get you cleaned up." He says in deliberate negligence.

"Didn't you just hear me? I lost." Grimmjow utters in a zombie trance manner.

"I heard you. Now I'm starved; let's go grab a snack."

Grimmjow doesn't appear to have heard all the freshman's attempts to digression. Instead, he sits on a bench, sticks each elbow to each knee, protracts his head to face the floor, and clasps his hair, completing a miserable spectacle. What a sorry sight he is.

Ichigo shakes his head and looks away. At length, he plants himself in front of his roommate, knees on the floor. He lays a hand on the other's lap to comfort him with what he has. Wordless and distraught, they stay there, with only the flickering incandescent lights to accompany them. As such, Ichigo doesn't notice that he's digging his senior's knee with the nail of his index finger.

But now Grimmjow grabs the freshmen's hand before raising his weary head. His tired eyes slightly frighten Ichigo, who backs away a few inches. They gaze at each other for several minutes. Slowly, the gap between them diminishes. Inevitably, their eyes close. Predictably, the senior's hands slide up to the freshman's face, as if cradling a fragile object. Gradually, the freshman reaches out to feel his senior's outer thigh. Invariably, new worlds break loose within them. Indescribably, their lips meet. Indelibly, this moment is tattooed in their minds.

Their activities are not yet over by a long shot. The rain starts to pour outside without their knowledge. Here, the senior extricates his mouth from the other's for a breath of air. It strikes him that they are not fully secured in the locker room. So he stands up unannounced and makes for the door, slamming it shut and pressing the lock, which in turn produced a hollow clunk.

"Shit. It's broken."

Ichigo shrugs his shoulders and closes in to examine the doorknob.

"It is broken; it won't lock." The freshman confirms.

Grimmjow stares at him to grope for a solution. But for a lack of response, Ichigo grabs the hem of the senior's neckline, pulling him to his face, locking him in a train of a lengthy, passionate kiss. The senior pulls away,

"Wait a sec." He excuses himself in a hurry. He then pushes a bench against the entry door, finally ensuring infinite privacy. He takes long strides over where the freshman is and doesn't pull his breaks until the younger boy's back is pinned to a locker. There ensues a dull metallic clunk. He resumes the suspended kiss with more ardor and starts pulling his drenched sleeveless shirt up his head to leave it to the mercy of the slippery floor. As he starts tugging on the freshman's raiment, threatening to snip it in two, the freshman assists him with his aim by taking it off himself. The senior cups the other's pelvic bone with his palm, stopping himself to succumb to a certain temptation which invites his hands to feel the lower regions of the freshman's torso. His grip tightens dangerously with every moan.

Ichigo traces the senior's abs with his fingertips. He explores the wondrously sculpted built of the torso with his palm. Indeed, he can feel Grimmjow's leg rubbing against his inner thigh with utmost carnal intent. Apart from it all he can feel his senior's heart thumping madly beneath his ribcage in a rhythmic unison with his. He can taste his sweat as he lets his tongue slide from his neck all the way down his hulking chest. He can hear him emit the most sensuous of gasps when he sucks portions of his neck, leaving red marks in pattern-less arrangement on his skin.

The night is far from over.

**TBC**

**A/N**: I do not know how to write lemony moments. So, forgive me for this but I do hope you get the picture.


	10. What Goes Up Must Come Down

Chapter 10: What Goes Up Must Come Down

Despite the cold and damp wind outside, both students are streaking with perspiration. The heavy rain has stopped, providing them with virtual assurance that it's now safe to brave the outside environment.

Grimmjow frees his mouth from the freshman's naked chest, after which he launches a line of heavy pants and leans his forehead on Ichigo's shoulder to alleviate his exhaustion.

The clock strikes eleven in the evening.

"Let's head back." The senior suggests.

Ichigo nods indistinctly. They collect their scattered wardrobes from everywhere without uttering another word. Commencing their light tread away from the building, they ascertain that all vestiges of their activity have been extinguished. They creep their way to their room. Once there, Ichigo deposits his bag in the corner, and takes out a set of clothing from his drawer before stowing himself in the toilet. He closes the door but fails in doing so, for Grimmjow has intercepted its closing,

"May I join you?" The senior asks, sporting a largely wicked grin.

In response, Ichigo pulls him inside.

...

The freshman wakes up, feeling a heavy weight against the left half of his body. His senior has fallen asleep beside him with only his boxers on. He's lying on his belly and has half his torso slumped over Ichigo.

"Sempai, wake up, it's 30 minutes 'til school bell." Ichigo says groggily.

Grimmjow stirs awake and wipes his face with his bare hands. "What time is it?"

"6:30."

The senior kicks the sheets and wedges himself up to pull a few stretches. All the while Ichigo is pulling on his uniform and is on his way to brush his teeth. By the time Grimmjow has geared himself up with his uniform, Ichigo is just about all ready to depart.

"I'll go ahead of you; I need to copy some shit of a homework."

"Shit." The senior says in an upset tone, apparently concerned in a wholly different issue.

"What's the matter?" Ichigo inquires and swings around to find his roommate rubbing his neck in front of the mirror in agitation.

Ichigo draws closer to take a better look, but the senior grabs for his collar and pries the upper buttons of his shirt open, exposing quite an area of skin.

"Sempai, now is not the ideal time to—"

"Here," Grimmjow says and rotates him by the shoulders to face the mirror.

"Shit." Ichigo hears himself say.

Both their necks and chests are infested with numerous dark red marks, at the sight of which the freshman blushes profusely.

"Shit." Grimmjow repeats. "I can scrape by during classes cos I have turtleneck collars, but basketball practice isn't gonna be easy for us, don't you think?"

Ichigo does not answer, and goes on to caresses his neck problematically.

"Well," the senior finally turns around, "you stay here and wait for me. I'll pick something up for this." With that, he opens the door and smokes out.

...

Grimmjow knocks urgently on Room 202's door.

"Why, Jack, what a pleasant surprise. I can't accommodate you for now; I'm late for a meeting—"

Szayel Apollo Grantz doesn't finish his sentence, for the teal-haired senior has hauled him outside his dormitory,

"I need that shit you used to lend me. Now." Grimmjow demands impatiently.

The debate club president stares at the basketball team captain, looking plainly clueless about the object of the request.

"My deodorant?"

"Not that. Sheesh. The one you said you use to cover up your eye bags."

"That—Oh, my concealer? It's in the first drawer. Do get it yourself—_Shit_." Szayel momentarily pulls to a full stop as something sparks up his mind. That something, apparently, has rendered him incapable of the continuation of his speech.

Grimmjow, on the other hand, has helped himself with Szayel's toiletries.

"I'm borrowing this for awhile." The teal-haired senior announces, waving up the tiny container he obtained from the drawer.

Szayel stays rooted to his spot, "Have you been screwing anyone lately, Grimmjow?"

The senior suspends his retreat as though running into an invisible wall.

"What did ja say?"

"You used to ambush my concealer when you get hickeys from Scheiffer." Szayel says bluntly.

Grimmjow charges back at the pink-head with considerable aggression.

"What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You're. Saying?"

"Let me rephrase that, 'Who're you fucking lately'? I mean, it _can't _be Scheiffer 'cos he's woken up from your spell—"

"Now you watch that filth hole you call your mouth if ya don't want me to shave that goddamn annoying candy hair—"

"Well, I was just _asking. _But if you find my language disagreeable, maybe you can at least tell me whom you're sleeping with." Szayel pursues assertively, which just about pisses the hell out of Grimmjow.

"Get lost."

"With whom are you reliving bygone pleasures?"

"Drop dead."

"Yeah, but before I do that, perhaps you can hint me on this mystery—"

"For the last time, Grantz, fuck off."

"No, seriously, Jack—"

Grimmjow has stalked off with both palms pressed against his ears.

...

"Here, use this." Grimmjow chucks the beauty product at Ichigo. The freshman stares at it as though he doesn't know what to make of it. At long last, he takes off the lid and applies generous amounts of its contents on his skin. It works like magic.

...

He arrives in class ten minutes late, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, considering that the homeroom professor is very much reliable in coming in consistently late.

"Something's bothering me." Renji tells Ichigo, cautiously shielding his mouth from their classmates' earshot.

"What's that?"

"D'you think Kira and Hisagi-sempai have, you know, done _it_ already?"

Ichigo looks utterly astounded. "Out of all the infinite number of things I can't fucking answer, why d'you have to pick the most unspeakable one? You're such a permanent snoop!" The orange-head blares, mortally alarmed.

Renji looks nervously around and hushes his friend heatedly, "Keep your voice down, for Christ's sake; they'll hear us!"

"I can hear you perfectly well from here." A disinterested and informing voice hacks across them. It's Hitsugaya Toushiro.

Ichigo and Renji swivel their heads around in slow motion as beads of sweat start to roll down from their temples.

"H-How long have you been _eavesdropping_?" The redhead asks in a chattering voice.

"Who the hell's eavesdropping? You're making a goddamn broadcast, if you must know. It's a good thing half the class isn't here yet." The silver-head answers.

"Y-you don't know what we're talking about, or _do_ you?"

Hitsugaya sighs. "They're my fellow band mates and I don't have the sensitivity of a toilet seat."

Renji makes a racket by eagerly sliding his chair beside Toushiro. He then asks with much persistence and shameless curiosity, "Do you think they're doing it?"

Ichigo hurls a crumpled paper at his loud-mouthed friend before Hitsugaya can open his mouth for a reply. "Why do you even want to know?" he asks irritably.

"Why _don't_ you wanna know?"

"Enough. It's their business. While it's not necessarily a crime to poke in their privacy, what we're doing simply by thinking it over _is_ a violation, a highly objectionable one." Toushiro says, obviously averse to every form of trespassing.

"Joy-killing jerks." Renji mutters dejectedly.

...

Lunch in the cafeteria can get pretty eventful, especially when quite a handful of people crash into your table. Renji Abarai, Kurosaki Ichigo, and Toushiro Hitsugaya can barely keep their gazes where they should as Hisagi Shuuhei installs himself beside their classmate, Kira Izuru. Renji, being the veteran snoop that he is, can't seem to concentrate on his food that he keeps on gorging in without looking, completely missing his mouth.

"Do you have a stiff neck, Renji?" Hitsugaya asks in mild irritation, to which Ichigo snorts on his bowl of ramen.

To further complicate the scene, the adrenaline-boosted Madarame Ikkaku and girlish boy Yumichika Ayasegawa squeeze in, sandwiching the non-suspecting Sado Yasutora between them.

"Waddaya say you and me have a little chat." The bald sophomore asks the brusque-bodied freshman.

"What about, sempai?" Sado asks in return.

"We're kinda low on the talent department in my karate team. Perhaps you'd like to share your blessings; in two words, join us."

"I've just been accepted to the Judo team. I'm sorry." Sado declines.

"Judo?" Yumichika starts, "It's such an abominably artless practice. All you do is throw your opponent on his back and smack your palms against him. Boring. Karate, on the contrary, is pure beauty. I'm the team's vice-captain, by the way." He finishes in a sing-song, almost melodious voice.

Ichigo can't quite spell out how someone who has a face like Yumichika's would end up a martial arts prodigy. For one thing, his beauty is so entrancing that it is rumored an unknown number of his batch mates have asked him out. For some reputation of beauty to reach such extent, he must be truly majestic in person.

"I've committed to the team captain. I'm really sorry, sempai." Sado says apologetically.

"That _can _be arranged." Madarame assures him.

The conversation goes on, hinting on infinity. Just then, Szayel Apollo Grantz drops his food tray on their table and pushes himself to get a seat between Ishida Uuryu and Ichigo.

Renji scuffles to make room for his uninvited roommate, "Sempai, how exquisite of you to join us."

The senior nods in appreciation. "I just thought getting to know you guys would be nice." He says, and almost immediately he displaces his face to face Ishida, "I won't beat around the bush anymore, Uuryu," He commences and produces a folded piece of paper from his pocket, all done in a very refined manner. He spreads it before the confused freshman, "Fill this up, I entreat you."

"What is it?"

"For formality's sake, I'll have you fill this up before you enter my debate club—"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm happy where I am in the archery team."

"Of course you're not. Don't be silly. Now time is ticking—"

"I'm really sorry." Ishida says.

The senior looks at him in a permeating gaze that seems to pierce through his thickset pair of glasses, "Well, I'll give you time to think about it. I'll await your answer, alright."

It all could've turned out to be your typical lunch with a group of fun-loving teenage boys if only Szayel Apollo didn't lean in to whisper on Ichigo's ears,

"Is Grimmjow getting laid?"

The orange-head chokes on his bite, and before long he's coughing violently on his head under the table.

"You alright, Kurosaki-kun?"

"W—what makes you think he's indeed screwing someone?" Asks the bewildered freshman.

"Well, I have this radar with me; I'm a very well-informed person. The point is, I want to know if you're noticing anything strange about your roommate."

"I—I have no idea, sempai. And I don't think it's _my _business either." Ichigo says.

The pink-haired senior gives him a fancy glance, at the same time sighing disappointedly. "It's either you know or you don't. But you know what? I'm quite convinced with the former."

...

"You're roommate is pervert, has anyone ever bothered to tell you that?" Ichigo tells Renji as they climb the stairs.

"A pushy pretty pervert." Uuryu Ishida piles in.

"He's a little on the twisted side, admittedly, but it's pretty easy to get along with him. He helps me with my assignments and all." Renji says as his thoughts meander to a winding reminiscence.

At the same moment, Grimmjow Jaggerjack comes descending the stairs with his fists stuffed in his pockets, looking loudly uninspired and disinterested. Ichigo's intestines perform a few cartwheels, or so he feels. Once again, he's gone under his roommate's spell.

The senior nods at him, all the while keeping a poker face. When he has gone nowhere to be seen, Ichigo's body has become limp.

"Your roommate is a goddamn snob." The redhead comments when the senior has swept out of their sight.

"I can still hear you, you know." Grimmjow's voice comes rising from below. He must have only gone over a flight of stairs.

Renji gulps, "Pardon me, Jaggerjack-sempai! Thought you were gone and out of earshot hehehehe..." he shouts back.

"Is Ichigo still there?" Grimmjow's voice asks.

"I'm here, yeah."

"Can I borrow you for awhile?!" The senior asks, his voice booming. They're starting to look like a bunch of apes calling out to each other from cages far adrift, what with the noise they're procuring.

"Hold on a sec." Ichigo hollers back and turns to his friends, "I'll catch up with you in a sec; go on without me."

Ichigo gallops over five risers without awaiting his pals' approval and hurries over to where Grimmjow is. He finds the senior leaning against a column on the landing's corner.

"Need anything?" The freshman asks, though he pretty much already has an idea what he has been called for.

"Yeah, _this_." The senior pulls him by the neck before shoving his tongue to his roommate's mouth. A flash of sexual thrill overcomes both students. After five private, guiltless, and wet minutes and counting, Grimmjow releases his captive and winks at him before turning around to proceed to his class, as if nothing worthy of noting has occurred. "See ya later, Berry-head."

...

The basketball practice is faring along smoothly, except perhaps for the constant short episodes Noitora Jiruga is directing. He keeps shooting rudely implicit comments in the air for everyone to hear. Grimmjow, feigning maturity or something alike, simply ignores him while Ichigo is just about all ready to slam dunk the vice-captain's head into the metal rims. Problem is, he can't slam a goddamn ball to save his neck.

When the session comes to an end, they all retire to the locker room. Noitora is currently humming 'Clementine' with replaced improvised lyrics which go like this: _'Oh my captain, oh my captain, oh my captain Jaggerjack, you are not but a fucking loser…' _

Ichigo feels a vicious anger devouring his chest. He starts to sing on the top of his lungs at the tune of the same song with his own lyrics, _'What a fucker, what a fucker, what a fucker Jiruga is, you are such a bitter asshole, what an ugly bitch you are…' _

The vice-captain drops the basketball shoes he's about to secure in his locker and darts aggressively at the freshman, with his gritted teeth fully exposed, "You motherfucking—"

Someone grabs his wrist from behind. Everyone makes a motion to stand up as Grimmjow tightens his grip around his vice-captain's wrist. On top of it, his lids are partly covering his eyes, which imply boredom.

"If there's a motherfucking dude here, I'm damn sure it ain't anyone else but you." He tells Noitora. Everyone else in the room freezes. Finding himself cornered, Noitora sends Grimmjow's arm flying away from his side.

"Go away, bitch. I ain't talking to you."

"Were you just about to attack a freshman in full view of the entire team, you obstinate prick?"

"What's it to ya? Oh, I remember; he's your faithful sidekick."

"If you lay a finger on him, I swear I'll fucking slit your throat; that's a fucking promise, Jiruga."

Ichigo stands there, wholly bereaved of motion as his ears unwillingly absorb what has just been said. Jiruga leaves the locker room.

...

Ichigo is sitting crosswise on his bed, his back against the wall, his legs folded to accommodate his elbows. He can scarcely immerse himself in the reading material he has in his hands.

Grimmjow enters the room. He dumps his duffel bag on his bed and rids Ichigo's hands of the paper he's studying. Not knowing what Grimmjow wants of him at the moment, the freshman can't quite steady his eyes at his senior. But before he can think further, Grimmjow abruptly sits between the his legs and leans against the freshman's stomach. Ichigo's face is touching the senior's hair, which reeks strongly of mint strawberry. He feels the senior's weight pushing him back at the wall. The nearness is heavenly, he thinks.

"I'm going away for three days." Grimmjow says in a low voice.

Ichigo bends under the weight of what he has just heard. "Where are you going?"

"The seniors will have a retreat. It's like some crappy fieldtrip where we get holed up in corny house and be sentimental and all. We'll depart one week from now."

"Can you skip it?"

"Can't. It's compulsory and it's customary around here to attend. It makes up for half your grade in homeroom. I hate to go, but I don't have a friggin' choice, do I?"

Ichigo remains silent. He's heard of the school activity before. In fact he has experienced attending one. He remembers having learned the cheesiest things he'd ever wanted to know. The activity focuses on the social reformation/development of the students, which basically means this is the chance to tell anyone what he likes; sort of like unloading your burdens/secret feelings toward someone, renewing/repairing broken relationships if anyone happens to be in dispute with someone, forging bonds and all that jazz.

A certain thought harasses his mind.

"Will Ulquiorra-sempai be there?" Ichigo asks.

"Yes. The entire batch will be there."

**TBC**

**A/N**: OH. MY. GOD. Bleach manga chap 316 is out. Read it now. Like, NOW!


	11. Into the Night

Chapter 11: Into the Night

Warning: May have mature contents

Problem is, he doesn't know what they are. There's no name that can possibly be designated to what they are, if they are indeed something. They don't talk about it; hell, they don't even mention anything related to it among themselves. Outside the four walls of their dormitory room, they simply blend into the whole setting; one's your regular 16-year old freshman and the other is a formidable 18-year old senior who happen to sleep in the same room, eat in the same cafeteria; basically, there's nothing irregular about them, that is, if they are outside dormitory room 408. Inside it, only the four walls have the answer. And walls can't talk.

He painstakingly recalls what Szayel Apollo Grantz relayed to him. Ulquiorra Scheiffer and Grimmjow Jaggerjack were once something. What it poses for him is a clear predicament which does not altogether redirect him to feel something else, but it dissuades him nonetheless. Perhaps the reason why he's getting all these from his dear senior is that the latter is making up for those long lonely nights which were deprived of Ulquiorra. He doesn't only endure these thoughts; he submissively accepts them. Without conviction, he entertains the possibility that the perfect combination of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra strictly belongs to the unfathomably distant past. Chances are, he may be wrong.

It's funny that he's starting to think he might have fallen in love with him. And it has only been a very short time. So short in fact that something inside him eggs him to ask his senior '_who are you_?' while '_what am I to you_?' is still reserved for a much later phase.

It's all too damn funny. And maybe lamentable.

He's kissing him right now. He kisses back. They take off their clothes, letting go of the world around them, including Ulquiorra Scheiffer, or so Kurosaki Ichigo wishes. They're all over each other; one owns and the other permits being owned. He's offering himself to him; no, he has given himself to him. He's just so goddamn good in bed that it's ridiculous; so goddamn hot he's sure the glaciers are starting to soften down somewhere in the far regions of Antarctica; so indomitably sexy he's blowing his mind by the simple act of feeding on his neck. It's so absurdly ethereal, enchanting, enthralling. It can't be real, it just can't be.

The freshman gasps for air. No sooner than he takes his first breath in a minute does he get engulfed in a wave of fervent snogging and groping. He can't say 'no' to him; he's too inviolable and he tastes too good for anyone to resist, at least for him. And so they do the night away as pieces of them fall apart, as little by little they give themselves away, as persistently the bed creaks like a bastard in a continuous repetition, as time and again, Grimmjow would rub his hard-on against his, as occasionally Ichigo would go down on him and make his senior do the same, as the freshman is bullied into submission, as the night ends unlike all the others before it.

He is indeed in love with him, if not addicted to him.

...

A dull thud is heard.

"Ouch!" Ichigo rubs his orange head just in time to see a whiteboard eraser hit the floor.

Professor Hirako has just made a target of his head using the accursed object.

"What was that for?!" the freshman asks the teacher in fury.

"I have to make sure my students are alive, you know. You look a damn lot like a zombie. I couldn't read your pulse from here. Scared me, I have to admit." Professor Hirako says informingly.

"Bastard."

"As I was saying, class dismissed."

Renji pushes his chair closer to Ichigo when the professor has gone.

"You look as though you need some good thawing." The redhead observes.

"You said that right."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing serious."

"Come on, spill it."

"Maybe later."

"Okay, it's later now; spill it."

"Let's go to the vending machine. I'll tell you there."

At the deserted vending machine area some two floors below,

"Are you my friend?" Ichigo asks Renji out of nowhere.

"Are you stupid?"

"Answer it, dammit."

"Yeah. One of the best rockin' friends you'll ever have. Happy now?"

"Good. Now, swear to me you're not gonna rat on about this to anyone, with perhaps the possible exception of Toushiro, agree?"

"…"

"Perhaps I've changed my mind."

The redhead hurriedly agrees, "No—no, wait. I promise. I won't tell them, and not even Toushiro—"

"—and everyone else—"

"—and everyone else. What is it?"

"Good. Here goes…"

Ichigo informs his redhead pal, who's listening very attentively at the moment, that he's sleeping with his roommate, his teammate, his captain.

It takes quite a long time to take its toll on Renji's head. When it does sink in, he becomes overcharged with every sort of emotion that Ichigo is now brewing over calling for the school nurse or an ambulance.

"A—you too? Like, I was beginning to think you'd be the next school jock next to him—him, your boyfriend—and now you're telling me—he's hot, like, I can tell, but—are you sure he likes you too? I mean, of course he does; he sleeps with you, for crying out loud—the point is, I mean, are you even sure you're not pregnant?"

Ichigo has his hand pressed over his forehead and is left with no other choice but to demonstrate sarcasm. "Yeah, I may be fucking pregnant, Renji, that's just so entirely possible."

"Are you—what exactly are you trying to tell me here, Ichigo?"

Ichigo feels his throat getting all tied up that he fears he won't be able to accomplish real words. He opens his mouth after a good wait,

"I may be in love with the bastard."

Renji looks blankly at the space around them as if enlightenment can be attained by doing such. Also, his eyes are protruding out of their sockets as though someone has occasioned him some serious affliction.

"Ichigo, mate, look at me. Yeah, that's it. Here, come closer, yeah, that's it. What exactly are you trying to tell me here?"

"I just told you. Please don't be a retard."

"Okay, that's it? No editions? I thought I heard that incorrectly, sorry about that. Well, if that seems to be the case, I must say, YOU ARE COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND!" Renji says in a profuse vexation as his cool veers out of him and both his arms clasp his head.

"I'm outta here. Call me again when you've finally managed to be of any help."

"No—wait, Ichigo, will you goddamn give me a moment here?"

Ichigo sighs as he stands there, wrung to his last and final point of tolerance.

Renji speaks again, this time in a more pleasing manner, "How do you say for sure that you're you-know-what with him?"

"I don't know. I call it that because I don't know."

"Ichigo, he's—he's just—"

"—too good for me, is that it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's the awful truth." The orange-head replies condescendingly.

"However, we don't know him. We don't know what he wants. For all we know, he may have fallen in love with you too."

"That's wishful thinking. Delusion, Renji, I don't need it."

"I was just allotting some possibilities here; it's not like false hope. But, mate, what's your problem? I mean, he must be in full possession of his wits if he's gone that far with you. He must be really in to you."

"Yeah, but it's also possible that his heart is still gadding somewhere else, where a certain someone is…Ulquiorra Scheiffer, and I may be just a replacement."

Renji doesn't quite know what to say under the circumstances. He speaks anyway, "Are they together?"

"They _were_ together. That's what your roommate told me. And now they have to go to some retreat house and, I dunno, I'm just scared of the thought of them being in the same room with all the possibilities of reunion and rekindling dead flames…" Ichigo trails off with a slight bitterness weighing down every syllable.

"Tell him. Tell him you'd do your nuts and bar his access inside your pants if he so much as looked at that son of a bitch."

"Who am I to demand anything from him? His fuck-buddy? Please."

"Are you sure he only looks at you that way?" Says a foreign voice from somewhere. It's Szayel Apollo Grantz. Renji and Ichigo dart their eyes toward the senior as their expressions shed off to shift to mortification. While Renji is as good as peeing his pants, Ichigo can kill for a fucking grenade at the moment, so he'd be able to blow himself away, together with his secrets.

"Sempai, it's not like you to nose in to other people's business." Renji says firmly, exhausting quite an amount of his courage.

"You're totally right, but it's my business to prevent students from loitering around during class hours. Please go back to your classroom."

Ichigo does not budge. Renji has to lead him on to leave his spot. Szayel speaks again,

"Kurosaki-kun," He pauses to make sure he's gathered the freshman's attention before resuming rather congenially, "I don't know what you're equipped with to vie against someone like Ulquiorra Scheiffer. I don't know if you realize that you are in a sort of an undeclared war against him. I knew it the moment I walked in on you and Jack and Noitora on that ugly episode on the rooftop. I don't know if you are impervious to jealousy, but I must warn you that though Scheiffer has left Jack a long time ago, he hates scavengers- forgive me for the term. He hates it when people get their hands on things he likes or used to like. And he used to love Jack. A lot. This may sound ludicrous, but, having said that, I surmise remnants of that feeling still dwell in his heart, if not in his mind. He still looks at Jack, with that I can give you my full assurance. He may still be living in the past with him. Your roommate is not an easy person to sway, but nevertheless, it's Ulquiorra whom we're talking about here. He's a pusher. He's a competitor, and that's been made repeatedly clear to me firsthand. I'm not asking you to do anything about it. However, it would damn please me to see Ulquiorra not getting what he wants for the first time. It would make me rejoice if he actually were to lose. Perhaps I'm asking you to do something after all. Please _win_. And go back to your classroom please." He finishes, and upon realizing he has outstayed his welcome, turns to leave.

They watch the gorgeous senior until he disappears in a corner. It takes quite a number of silent minutes for the impression he has left to subside.

"So, Ichigo, how many times do you do _it_ in a day?" Renji asks Ichigo without the slightest trace of embarrassment or reluctance.

"Do what?"

"Go to bed with your roommate?"

"Jesus Christ, Renji, you're such gossip-whore."

"I'm a gossip-whore if I happen to spread it all over town. The thing is, I _won't_."

"I'm heading back to class." The orange-head says and turns to leave.

"Come on tell me!"

"Once. Twice. Don't ask anymore."

"Thrice?"

"Shut up."

...

Ichigo watches carefully as his roommate packs his things for the trip. _He'll be gone for three days_, as if it would dispel his worries, he keeps on telling himself.

"That should be it." Grimmjow says, wrapping up the final touch of his activity. "I'll see you in three days, Berry."

"Yah, enjoy. Bon voyage."

"That's all?"

The freshman looks up at his senior, looking mildly perplexed, "Uhm, I'll play nice in the training when captain is away."

Grimmjow puts his fingertips on Ichigo's chin to lift it up a few centimeters, looking vastly amused "Say '_I'll be good and I won't jump into someone else's bed while Jag-sempai is away_'."

"I won't screw around." Ichigo says before muttering a very faint '_maybe you would'._

"I didn't catch that?"

"I won't screw around."

"That's my Berry-head." The senior says with such an unbridled and fascinated satisfaction that his set of speck-less, perfectly even teeth is showing. Ichigo suspects Grimmjow's not aware how handsome he gets whenever he wears his malicious grin.

They make out torridly for a good ten minutes until the parked school bus goes crazy with its honking waiting for the seniors who are taking too damn long to get themselves prepared.

...

The night has gained height.

Several miles away from the school, in a certain retreat house, Ulquiorra is leaning on a balustrade with his elbows propped on the railing, feeling the homeless wind with his face. He has just finished playing a brilliant tune in his violin, which now stands abandoned at his foot. Grimmjow is idling vacantly some two meters away, as if reflecting over an unearthly matter.

"What did you call me here for, Ulquiorra?"

"I've been thinking."

"Of what?"

"You asked me if I was looking at you."

This only deepens the teal-haired lad's desire to scram right on the spot. He answers anyway,

"Yeah, and your pompous ass told me there was no use in doing that. Wow. That had to be the loveliest answer I had received in years." Grimmjow stands up to leave after determining that this is all a waste of his time.

"Yes. But I didn't say I wasn't looking at you."

"Your point? I'll answer that. Here goes and catch this: you can't answer correctly and you like deviating from the context. Goodnight." The teal-haired senior says, and this time he's really leaving.

"There's no use in doing it but I _do _it anyway."

Grimmjow's footsteps die away and do not recommence.

"You said we were over. You might as well have impaled me with a goddamn Katana or something, what with your awesome candidness. You said, 'w_e're over, Jag'. _You even had the guts to call me by _that _name when it should've expired right then and there when you said all was over."

"You used to like it when I called you that."

Ulquiorra gave him that name, hence it was exclusively for his use, supposedly.

Grimmjow is getting increasingly temperament. He hunches his shoulders and pouts his mouth, taking refuge in his last pint of patience, "What do you want, Ulquiorra?"

The green-eyed senior withdraws his resting hands from the railing.

"Lots of things, and one of them is _you_."

Grimmjow starts to laugh derisively at this insanely candid proclamation.

"Just when I have picked myself up from the puddle of shit you shoved me into, you come back knocking at my door. This is getting comically cinematic, and I don't want any of this baloney."

"You said you'd change for me. Change you did. Can you even do _without_ me, Jag?"

The teal-haired shakes his head for a lack of proper response to the other's utter audacity and fearless impertinence. He smiles, only because he doesn't know which expression to assume.

"You think the world revolves around you, don't you? And you're this great someone who declares aloud his love for science and Copernicus and Galileo. You truly are bizarre. I suppose they don't call you Pompous Prick for nothing."

"Can you do without me?"

"I can. I just bloody did, if you haven't noticed."

Ulquiorra walks over to where the other senior is, unfazed and determined.

"I don't think you can. I've been with you all along, always. I never left, never intended to, perhaps because I _can't_. But you're here; I'm here too. We're both here, and I've just awakened from the beauty of it all. Of _you_, most especially." He says, employing an avid, almost fanatic, thoroughness in his explicit little speech that Grimmjow can't stop suspecting he has it written at the back of his palm.

"You've been watching me. It won't change anything. Don't force meaning into something that's no more than a cheap trick. You and your accursed violin can go to hell together. You think that still works for me?"

The truth is, Ulquiorra Scheiffer is capable of changing the color of everyone's mind whenever he hits the strings. And Grimmjow Jaggerjack used to be his number one fan.

"You call this cheap trick?"

The head of the Council Four looms radiantly pale under the moonlight, and his eyes, no less luminous. Inch by inch, he strides closer and closer to the other until no distance is left to cover. He kisses those unmoving lips which do not back away. In the deeper regions of their hearts, something from the remote past stirs awake.

And somewhere far away, one heart is in danger of devastation.

**TBC **

**A/N: **Man! I don't even know why I'm writing shit with cheesiness of this caliber! I hope you won't murder me or Ulquiorra for this. Forgive me anyway and thanks for reading. ;)


	12. All Downhill from Here

Chapter 12: All Downhill from Here

**A/N**: May contain mature contents

Anyone with half a brain can tell what's in; something has changed. Ichigo can tell it from the way his senior unloads his things when he arrives from the retreat house. This change, this intrusive transformation, appears to have one purpose, and that is to precipitate some sizeable gap which now seems so tangible as to suggest he might fall into it anytime soon. He receives it all with a subtle recognition, but not without an ardent inward denial.

The senior occupies the space beside him, and in a minute engages him in a lengthy period of intense foreplay. Grimmjow climbs over him and ravages every available skin on his body with his lips. And then he stops, unbidden and unceremoniously.

"Something wrong?"

Grimmjow does not answer. He starts from where he took off and is now groping, as if in desperation, for every part of the freshman's body he can get hold of. He stops again.

"You can stop altogether if you want to." The freshman tells him.

The senior sits up on his knees. "I can't."

It hits him like some dreadfully awaited calamity. "Okay."

"I can't." Grimmjow repeats. "It's all like a bullet. It's that fast. I'm sorry."

"Okay."

Ichigo pushes him aside to get himself dressed despite his soggy legs and protruding erection.

"Where are ya going?"

"Out."

"You're fucking pissed."

"Nah. Never been better."

The freshman has nimbly sped off somewhere outside.

...

Ichigo knocks on Room 202. He's presently knocking the door off its frames that Szayel Apollo Grantz has kissed the floor when he scuffled to rise up to attend to the calling.

"Kurosaki-kun, you looking for Renji? He's on the field right now, being an all mighty mid-fielder—"

"I came for _you_."

"Oh."

The senior shows him inside and motions at him to sit on a swivel chair, making earnest efforts towards hospitality.

"How can I help you?" The senior asks amicably.

"Is Grimmjow-sempai back with Ulquiorra?"

The pink-haired senior aborts his activities and wrinkles his forehead.

"Why would I answer that? Last time I checked, Ishida Uuryu is still in the archery team."

"Just this one. If you know anything, please—"

"—I'm kidding. I hate extorting. Anyway, I absolutely have no idea; none at all." The senior answers in a weighty sincerity.

Ichigo heaves a small sigh, "I think something happened between them during the seniors' retreat-fieldtrip."

Szayel tries to recover his memories, "I don't remember having noticed anything fishy. But then again I wasn't paying too much attention to them."

"I guess…I think we're over."

The senior bites his lower lip. "You're just gonna give up on it? Just like that? Without confirming anything? You haven't even asked him yet."

"There's nothing to get over with to start with. I was just—aargh—some passing impulse that he so easily gave way to—"

"—doesn't everything start that way? It starts negligibly small, and then it grows big; it's just like Biology."

"No. This is something else. It's vastly more unpredictable."

"I suggest you look into this unsorted speculation thoroughly first. That's the best I can give you. It's not too neat an advice, but it would piss me off if you just backed the hell down without trying." The senior says, exercising restraint to avoid sounding intrusive.

"What I'm up against, you, Szayel-sempai, can't even subdue. You say Ulquiorra-sempai is your rival; you must be brilliant to be considered as such. And I'm a long shot far from you. Transitive reasoning; I'm a bug while he's a fucking god."

Szayel flicks back his soft hair, conjuring a scene that boasts of visual showcase. He draws near to Ichigo.

"I try. I fight. That's _our _major difference."

"…" Ichigo falls unalterably silent, his mind slithering into some intricate depth no words can describe.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine, sempai."

...

The next few days will prove to be difficult for Grimmjow, taking into account the amount of coping he has to manage. They have stopped sleeping with each other, which came to them as a mutual understanding. The senior would at times try to snatch a few words with his roommate, but the freshman's avoiding tactics are so very much adeptly strategized for him to outsmart. At times, he finds himself itching for the freshman's body as though pining to act upon the ripened grain of many dark, lonesome hours, in which he's been immersing himself lately. Frustrated as he is, he vigorously tries to maintain his composure and emotional constraint, being the perfect model of coolness that he is.

Ichigo is a broken heart waiting to happen. He's had quite a positive feeling that his former flame, his roommate, has gone back to his true love, or whatever Ulquiorra is to his sempai. Grimmjow, on the other hand, can't quite at the moment distinguish what he wants precisely. Ichigo has been fun, charming, cute, and energetic though he appears to him as something temporal. He's too young at heart and too bubbly and pure to defile while Ulquiorra is a master of the game. Despite that, Grimmjow fears this fellow senior of his, for he is capable of such barrenness, of abandon, as what he has ingeniously demonstrated before, which makes him indeed vastly difficult to be granted absolute pardon. In sum, there's too much risk on the ground Ulquiorra walks on. In his consciousness for some impending disaster that his ex-lover is likely to create, Grimmjow feels that their so recent severance is unnatural. Or maybe this is all just a heavy distraction which merges his old feelings with his new ones. Who knows? Not him, for sure.

...

Grimmjow absent-mindedly descends a flight of stairs after his nightly corridor inspection. In his walk, he barely notices a shadow pass by the perpendicular hallway.

"There's no loitering at this time of the night." He warns the student.

Ishida Uuryu postpones his stroll. "I've just been to the library." He explains briefly.

"That's no valid excuse. In any case, I'll let you off the hook for now. Next time this happens you can save your spit for the principal."

"Well then, I'll use the window next time." The freshman says leisurely in the brink of his departure.

"Did you just get cheeky with me, freshman?"

"You call that cheek, Jaggerjack-sempai?"

Grimmjow lapses from his disoriented state, "That's it. What's your fucking name?"

"Uuryu Ishida."

"You'll be up for detention tomorrow after classes."

"That would be a _capital _experience."

"Let me get this through that thick skull of yours; no one gets to perform his cheek on me unless I tell him so." The senior hisses in a fatal, brewing rage. By some other faculties, he is reminded that now is not a very ideal time to crack someone's skull, one of the reasons is the lack of baseball bat in sight.

Ishida scratches the back of his head to exude hints of boredom. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not be scolded off by a two-timing, incorrigible prat."

Grimmjow can hardly believe his ears. He can't remember having been more infuriated. In consequence he throws a savage glare at the freshman before flaring, "What the fuck did you just say, you fucking walking stick? You pining for my wrath, you cunt? Well, you're on the yellow brick road now."

"You must have misinterpreted me. What I'm trying to say is, if you had the time to blow my friend's heart into smithereens, I _expect_ it wouldn't trouble you much if you at least tried to act apart from an unmentionable flirt. Or are my expectations _too _high for your unfortunate comprehension to comply with?"

Grimmjow charges at the freshman with more unrestrained force than required that Ishida's bespectacled frame drops on the floor. "Fuck you. Don't think I'd let your ass off unscathed. Are you Ichigo's friend?" he asks heatedly.

"Obviously enough. But don't get me wrong; he's been keeping his silence. He knows nothing about us knowing too much about him and you; only that your despicably cheating tendencies are all over the goddamn place." Ishida answers coolly, sounding as though he has some contingency plan under his sleeves in case the senior's lurking violence breaks loose.

"Don't talk about shit you know nothing about. I'm the one who's fucking stuck in the middle here—"

"—stuck in the middle you call it? I'd be more inclined to label it a win-win situation, seeing as you've got at least one rebound to fall back on—"

"—I'm not getting busy with no one. Don't talk out your friggin' ass, you meddling son of a gun—"

"—I do not enjoy being misconstrued. I'm not dipping my nose in the shit you've just about invented, but if you make my friend shed one fucking drop of tear," Ishida hacks the senior's hands off his shirt's collar before continuing in an uninhibited, almost blatant confidence, "I swear I will shake that pretty stable ground you walk on and personally deliver you to hell. Goodnight, sempai."

With that, Ishida straightens up his collars and vanishes.

...

Grimmjow furiously makes his way to his room, producing heavy treads along the way. Because his anger is shooting through the ceiling, the fine lines in his face loom more discernible. With great restraint, he tries with much difficulty to suppress the urge of driving his fist at full strength to the wall.

He enters his room, where he comes face to face with his roommate. It didn't earlier occur to him that the freshman might still be awake. He steps in, nevertheless, looking all riled up and unprepared for the confrontation and instantly forgets about his episode with Uuryu Ishida the moment his eyes land on the orange-head.

Ichigo curls down to sleep.

"Get up." Grimmjow demands in an attempt to sound daunting.

"And why should I?" Ichigo asks with as much nonchalance as he can afford.

"Because I'm asking you to."

"I happen to have this dazzling headache, so if I'm not in for a fucking aspirin I'm not getting the shit out of this bed." The freshman says methodically, seemingly holding no specific loathing against the senior.

Grimmjow grabs the blanket the freshman is in and throws it in the air.

"What the hell is your problem?" Ichigo asks irritably.

"You are."

"I'm a problem? Splendid." The freshman says flatly before recovering his blanket from the floor. He gets back to sleep.

"You will start talking to me right at this moment, Ichigo."

Ichigo bolts upright and looks at his senior square in the face. "What do you want?"

Grimmjow falls back against the neat wall. He rubs his lips and slings back strands of his bangs to his head. Surely, none of this is gonna be easy. "I know you're mad at me, but this isn't what I wanted—"

"—what, sempai? You didn't want to hurt me or anything that's why you're not saying a goddamn word? Or are you too thick to make a decent explanation? It's that easy, isn't it? You can just disappear right before my eyes like a fucking tooth fairy—"

"—did you think what I pulled on you was just my hormones? You thought I never felt anything?"

"I didn't want to believe that it was just your raging hormones doing all the actions, but in the long run you made me believe so. You never talked, never said anything that can even be faintly associated to affection. I wasn't asking for a relationship, but, dang, a little talking would have sufficed. In short, I didn't want to think that way, I swear, only that you _made _me do so."

Grimmjow turns his head away and speaks placidly, "I'm not with Ulquiorra. He wants me back; I haven't given an answer."

"And that makes me what? The waiting list? A standby? Seriously, I'm not much into making a pathetic underdog out of myself, so I'm out of you. Do what you want and good luck."

The senior receives these acidic words like a sword entering his chest.

"Is it so fucking hard to understand that it's not a minute's worth of decision-making—"

"—I understand. I understand it all completely. So to make it all easier for you, just fucking blot me out of the goddamn picture, so we'll all be hopping happily in the end."

"You're such stubborn brat, aren't you? I owe this person a lot. Yeah, he once broke my heart, but. even grabted that, he's still a part of me that I can't let go as of _now_. Do you hear that? I'm _trying_ to, so give me time." Grimmjow says almost pleadingly.

Ichigo can feel his eyes summoning water. He swallows hard. Suddenly he hears himself speak without solemnity nor mercy, but only with a prominent vehemence and perhaps a little sarcasm, "Are you trying to break my heart? If so, I must say you're making one hell of a gorgeous job at it. Bravo. Now it's a bloody mess that's bleeding all over the goddamn place and is hardly recognizable. Do you know how much shit you're putting me through by prolonging this? You don't. I don't either. But I'm sure as hell it's more agonizing than what you're trying to traverse past right now. And now you dare ask me to buy you time? I guess it's too late for that. If by a chance of some infinitely great coincidental nature that you happen to be capable of making up your mind, it shouldn't be taking you this long to decide. The options wouldn't have existed because there should only be _one _answer. There should be no hesitations, no second thoughts. Now it's too late for anything under the fucking sun to rescue you or me from this irretrievable, irreconcilable, unsalvageable mess. Don't talk me into fighting a long lost battle; that doesn't appeal to me very much."

Ichigo gathers up a pillow and his blanket, and stalks over to the door with remarkable agility.

"Where are you going?"

"To Siberia perhaps; anywhere _without _you."

Grimmjow finds himself alone in the room again.

...

He can't remember having been damper than the July rain. He enters into a realm if dissolution where not much of his former self is present and takes on the day under the pretense that he's got no weight under his belt. Presently, he's knocking on the auditorium's door.

"Why, Jack, do you need anything?" Stark asks his fellow senior.

"No, not just anything; I need a _huge _a favor." Grimmjow replies.

The vocalist senior frowns as the prospect of some humongous commitment or inconvenience takes shape in his head, "What exactly?"

"I'll need an entire line-up, from vox to drummer, to sing a tune at the halftime period of next week's game. We'll be playing against Yokohoma High."

Hisagi Shuuhei steps forward, "May I interfere? I think the song selection is bound to my club's interests—"

"—that's why I'm saying this is gonna be a _huge _favor."

Everyone stares at each other. "Okay, what's the plan?" The band club president asks the basketball team captain.

"First, I want to know who are willing to participate."

Shuuhei starts electing his club-mates, "That'll be Stark-sempai for vox, me for—"

"—_I'll_ be the vocalist." Grimmjow snips through.

He receives half a dozen cynical glares.

"What?" Stark asks.

"I told you this was gonna be a huge favor. Are you in or are you not?"

"If you're to be the vox, that means I'm_...free_! Okay, I'll have my break now. I hope you heard that, Hisagi." The club's vice president's face lights up, in such the same way had he been absolved of all the responsibilities waiting in line for him. But as he starts to traipse merrily towards the exit Hisagi pulls the back of his collar.

"You're not going anywhere, sempai." The sophomore declares sternly.

The senior scowls in silence, granting Grimmjow a chance to resume talking, "As I was saying, I want to sing a particular song. So that'll make _me _the vocalist, Stark for my background vocals, and who plays who?"

Hisagi clears his throat, "I'll play the drums this time. I'll leave lead guitar to Toushiro here. Kira will do the keyboard. Stark-sempai, I know you play the bass; can you handle second voice and the strings all at once?"

"Yeah." The raven-haired senior answers lazily, demonstrating a complete and total lack of enthusiasm.

"And finally," the sophomore turns to Grimmjow Jaggerjack, heaping in a formal ring to his voice, "you'll do the vocals and rhythm guitar. It's an easy job."

"I don't mind. I can hit the strings a bit. Just teach me the chords." Grimmjow agrees.

"Well, Jack, just because you've beaten me twice in Guitar Hero it doesn't mean you can do it out there. This means a lot of rehearsals for you, so you gotta work like a horse too." Stark warns as if he once upon a time experienced working like a horse. Grimmjow is looking quite offended at the moment.

Hisagi decides to interfere, "And that's coming from someone who thinks that coming in forty minutes late for any given appointment is tradition. Practice makes perfect; we'll work like a horse."

Stark scowls at the president. "You're one to talk. You yourself are not being punctual lately too."

It's true. Hisagi and Kira have been coming in consistently and suspiciously late for almost everything lately, and together at that too.

Toushiro Hitsugaya extends his legs and stands up. "There seems to be quite a mysterious intention to this whole performance. May I know for whom you're singing this song? It doesn't sound like your regular jam, if you ask me." He asks Grimmjow, prompting everyone to nod in agreement.

Grimmjow looks slowly around before letting the answer escape his throat,

"Ulquiorra."

Toushiro and Kira eye each other as if to exchange hidden explosive messages.

"I'm sorry, but I'm _not _doing this for him." The silver-haired freshman announces resignedly.

"I wish to be excused too." Kira echoes in a refined manner, but with obvious dismay.

The band club president shoots them both a puzzled and mildly panicked glance, "Guys, what's up with you two? All of a sudden?"

"Yes, sempai," Kira answers his boyfriend in an inappropriate tone, and maybe with misplaced annoyance too, "I shall take my leave _now_."

Toushiro follows his classmate towards the exit. Hisagi, struck by the show of attitude the two have conducted, is so dead smack appalled that he can't quite communicate his protest. But no sooner than he thinks of opening his mouth does Grimmjow speak calmly, in spite of feeling rather incriminated by the two freshmen's boorish conduct towards him,

"You don't know the half of it."

"And the half of it happens to be, what? Grand?" Toushiro asks, shooting sarcasm here and there that's verging on contempt.

The teal-haired senior probes for a piece of paper in his pocket. Upon producing the mystery piece, he spreads it out to render it readable for everyone. It's a set of lyrics of some famous song.

"This is the song I want us to play." He points out, sounding profoundly conspiratorial.

Toushiro and Kira read the texts pensively. They stare at each other questioningly before nodding in unison, "Let's kick it." Both say with renewed enthusiasm.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Okay, there's angst for everyone. You can kill me now, seeing as I just about puked half my guts while writing this crap of a chapter hahaha ;)


	13. Over You

Chapter 13: Over You

It disturbs him to think that all those days are sequenced by this. It's too barren, too irrevocable, and too simple an aftermath to be related to what they used to be. All of it represents a bygone world. What it resembles is an apparition. Clearly, it's over.

Kurosaki Ichigo has been spending the last few nights in Renji Abarai and Szayel Apollo Grantz's room. He knows better than to abuse their hospitality, but the presence of Grimmjow Jaggerjack is just too effective, and the sight of him, too wrecking to endure.

The freshman hunkers back to the room he shares with the senior to make it early to an Inter-High basketball match, which will be held in some local stadium. He finds it empty, much to his relief, so he takes a deep breath and heads on to the first basketball match of his senior high with slight relief.

It is customary for the school to provide the athletes a ride to their official matches. Hence when Ichigo conducts himself to the air-conditioned bus he finds it only half full. He plunks himself at the back of the vehicle on a window seat as a derelict feeling reaches the pit of his stomach. That's because Grimmjow has just entered the the bus, followed by a neat line of players. Upon seeing him, it dawns on the freshman that he is still in a state of repair. As a result his mind becomes suddenly bolstered by a series of reminiscence. To his dismay, the thoughts come wafting at him in a fast forward pace. And so with effort he tries to flush them about by pretending to sleep.

"May I sit beside you?"

Ichigo opens his eyes to find Toushiro Hitsugaya standing before him. He peeks behind his friend to learn that three other band club members, Stark, Hisagi, and Kira, are routing their way to find vacant seats.

"What are you doing here?"

"We'll be playing a tune at the halftime so we get special treatment. You don't expect us to carry our instruments around in public utility vehicles, do you?"

"Oh."

"We get to have free tickets too. Renji did his nuts when he learned so. He'll be hitching it up with Sado, Uuryu, and Hanatarou."

"Wonderful."

Ichigo tries to smile at this. Just then, the air becomes doubly onerous as Ulquiorra Scheiffer jostles in and takes the front seat. Some four rows of seats behind, Grimmjow Jaggerjack's boisterous laughter, afforded by one of his teammates' puns, gets suspended. Szayel Apollo Grantz enters the scene too as it becomes wholly apparent to Ichigo that the Council Four officers, naturally, are given the special privilege to get room in the school vehicle. Upon reaching their destination, everyone dredges himself up to relieve the bus of his presence. Toushiro and Ichigo scoot side by side but are separated once they enter the stadium.

"Good luck, mate." The silver-haired bids the orange-head.

"You too for the performance."

In the dugout, the athletes are given their initial pep talk as Ichigo becomes wholly aware that his heart rate has surpassed being tamable; this is gonna be his first game as a senior high student. As a matter of fact, the anxiety is simply insurmountable, and the excitement, unconquerable.

"Gather up, ladies," Coach Zaraki Kenpachi starts, "I don't see the point of educating you about what this game is all about, plainly because I don't wanna be this redundant voice in your heads that says we need to create first impression because first impressions are often the last impressions. You know the goddamn drill, so let's get our asses up there and show them what we're made of." He pauses and turns to the team captain, "I leave the rest to you, Jaggerjack and Jiruga."

The two seniors nod in a tense unison.

They finally make an appearance on the court, and right at the same moment the crowd erupts, with deafening howls assaulting the air. Ichigo's eyes are led to a particular source of noise. He sees Renji and the others going brutally aggressive in cheering for him.

The game commences. Once Ichigo dives into it, all else becomes subversive; there's only one thing for him to do: win. There's no Grimmjow, no Noitora, no Ulquiorra. All there is is his team, with which he has to coordinate, and the opponents, whom he will crush. He doesn't come to the realization that he is exercising quite a profound indifference towards his captain. All of him now is entirely devoted to the game, and what he's doing is he's making baskets over and over again. By the time the first quarter comes to a close, the coach has endowed him three praises.

The opponent, to his disappointment, is a joke; a bunch of overrated wankers who are as much of an adversary as a gum stuck on his soles, if anything.

Before he knows it, the second quarter is at its last second, announcing the game's halftime. But while the team flits its way to the dugout in a merry mood, Ichigo is wallowing away at the end of the line. Just then he feels a hand prodding the garter of his shorts. When he gives it a thought, Grimmjow Jaggerjack has pranced in front of him nimbly, as if someone has handed him quite a lot of perks. The senior now stands before him, tall and sturdy, with all the completeness of a conceited, handsome bastard. The captain speaks,

"I'll be performing a little something for the Halftime Showtime."

Ichigo stares meticulously at the scheming bastard before taking a sideway step,

"Do what you want." The freshman answers in an audibly, almost palpably indifferent tone.

Grimmjow flings his hands at the sides of the younger boy and onto the wall, trapping him between his arms, looking as though he's about to swoop down to kiss the defenseless freshman. Ichigo, to his credit, merely breaks a long, boredom-implying sigh.

"Is that so?" The senior asks seriously, rather than using his usual seducing tactics, which disturbs Ichigo immensely. Grimmjow goes on, "If that's the case, can I _kiss_ you then?" Indeed he truly looks as though he's off to kiss him upon the slightest sign of permission.

Ichigo fumes with indignation, but luckily he has enough wit to look nervously around, only to find several passers-by staring transfixed at them. Now alert and offended on the whole, he grabs the senior's arms and tries to discard them from the wall,

"People are watching us, goddammit. Get your sweaty self away from me." The freshman snarls in a roughly discernible volume.

Grimmjow removes his hands from the wall while keeping his distance with such an air of fierce tenacity.

"Let's head back to the court. You're gonna watch me hit it off with the band club."

"Who died and made you my boss?"

"No one, which means I'm still your goddamn boss."

Ichigo glowers to no avail. But now Grimmjow has gone back to the court, still brimming with ferocity. It suddenly occurs to the freshman that Kira and Toushiro would be gravely disappointed if he missed their performance. With that in mind, he strafes after his captain to head back to the court without knowing in the least what's in store for him.

The senior is still wearing his jerseys when he picks up the guitar. Four other students are planted in the middle of the basketball court with their respective instruments. Among the members, Toushiro alone looks exceptionally complacent, of course, because Stark seems bored and to want nothing more than to get the whole thing done as early as possible, Hisagi is beaming widely and excitedly, and lastly Kira is arranging the settings of his electric keyboard, seemingly unconscious about the thick crowd surrounding them. Ichigo can hear a rain of piercing shrieks from the crowd.

"Stark-sama! I love you!" some nameless bimbo is tearing her throat as several other ridiculous things issue in high velocity from her mouth.

"Shuuhei-dono! Marry me!" some girls from the upper box are screaming their heads off. Ichigo can see Kira rolling his eyes scornfully.

"Grimmjow-san! I'll have your baby!" is probably the most degrading thing a girl can ever be compelled to scream, but Ichigo is hearing it anyway.

Hisagi Shuuhei takes the microphone to make an introduction, "We are the band club of Karakura Gakuen High. We will be performing a single selection before the second half of the game commences. But due to some special circumstances, the captain of the Karakura High basketball team will be gracing the performance with his presence as the lead vocalist."

Grimmjow nods mechanically, almost arrogantly, as a mixture of ominous whispers and girls' uncontrollable screams seize the air. He really is popular.

Shuuhei resumes his speech while a mischievous grin betrays his mouth, "Jack-sempai, would you want to dedicate this song to a particular someone?" He asks the team captain and points the microphone to his lips. Subsequently, the whole of the affair starts to appear like a staged, rehearsed act.

"I would like to dedicate this song to an old friend whose name is Ulquiorra Scheiffer."

Ichigo's chest shrinks. _What a deplorable jerk_, his mouth is bursting to scream. He'd very much love to make his disappearance, but somehow something's persuading him to stay: his desire to hurl the goddamn bench he's currently sitting on at Grimmjow using the collective might of the whole of Japan, if possible.

Renji and the rest of the gang freeze their motion. Among them, Renji is the only one to whom Ichigo has personally disclosed his plight with Grimmjow and Ulquiorra. However, his body language and his recent mood have given him away, resulting to an unspoken understanding among his pals. In a word, the other five know more or less half of what's going on in the orange-head's life.

Szayel Apollo Grantz is seated next to his fellow senior and Council Four member behind the team's bench line. He has not the slightest idea of what is to come about, and it appears that Ulquiorra is just as much as clueless.

"I didn't know you have relit the old fire, huh? I'm happy for you." The pink-haired senior tells the green-eyed senior. It's as clear as day that he's lying like a drunken bastard. Of course, he's not happy with what he thinks is bound to happen because. more than anything, he'd like to see the bastard next to him have his heart wrenched open again and again and send him crawling on the floor with a broken heart. But, as it turns out, such spectacle is only a distant dream and far, far away from possibility…

The band hits the first chords. The melody sounds very familiar to Ichigo and to everyone in the goddamn stadium, because it was once a very famous hit in the airwaves. Grimmjow grabs the microphone and starts singing,

_I can't believe I hung around with you  
All this time  
You drove me crazy with your OCD  
Boy you're out of your mind  
I'm counting on ufo's to beam me up  
I just don't know  
How long I can take this shit  
I'm over it boy you gotta go_

_It's over were over  
Just like in crimson and clover  
Were sinking and I'm thinking  
How the hell did we get so stupid  
It's the end ex boyfriend  
I don't care what you think of me now  
So long you're gone  
This is the break up song_

_One more thing before you go  
Would you please give me my records back  
My bloody valentine, the pixies, cheap trick and back in black  
You can keep the dog we bought  
But you can't go near the standard bar  
Don't hang around  
Don't call my friends  
They wont know who you are_

(Song Title: The Break-up Song; Artist: American Hi-Fi)

It's not exactly a heart-wrenching performance. In some parts, it even sounded half-heartedly done. In some parts, he was shouting his lungs out. Some parts (insert equal sign here) '_it's over, we're over', 'how the hell did we get so stupid'. _It could have been perhaps more sophisticated had the original vocalist, Stark the hustler, sung it all. But then, since it was Grimmjow Jaggerjack who sang it and dedicated it to his former flame Ulquiorra Scheiffer, everything turns out entirely different and altogether controversial. And so it almost shocked Ichigo and Ulquiorra half to death.

Szayel Apollo Grantz can't quite suppress his glee. He rouses up from his seat like a geyser and starts clapping like a maniac. "He sings very well!" he tells his seatmate-for-the-game triumphantly.

Ulquiorra is looking a helluva lot like a rejected idiot lost in space. Perhaps this is first time as far as world history is concerned. What pisses him the most is the fact that American-Hi Fi has been one of his favorite bands of all time. He even remembers spending tons of Benjamins for their concert a few years back. Now he's cursing more than he's ever cursed anyone or anything in the whole damn galaxy. _How could someone write such a pathetic, bitter, boldly sour-graping song? _He stands up at last, and stares at the sight below him to catch Grimmjow's face, which in the meantime is sniggering like a hyena.

"So be it." Ulquiorra mutters to himself and hits the exit with head held up high.

Ichigo stands up in a daze. He lets his feet carry him back to the dugout and there he sinks to a bench.

"Break's over; let's head back." One of his teammates says.

The second half of the game is a blast. He still can't make quite a normal contact with the captain, who seems to be kicked up to a more energetic state. Still, he retains an impressive play and no longer harbors a heavy feeling in his chest, somehow.

The game heads towards a close. On their way back to the school, the entire team hums an empowering chant to celebrate their victory. However, neither Grimmjow nor Ichigo can seem to say word to one another.

...

Ichigo winds up sleeping in his dormitory room. The game has exhausted the hell out of him, so now he plunges into the deep black of slumber. He must have already slept for more than a couple of hours when he awakes at an utterly unpleasant, and maybe ghastly, surprise. Grimmjow Jaggerjack has him in a tight, dry lip-lock. Ichigo, with what strength he is currently in command of, flings him by the shoulders, wrenching their mouths apart.

"Have you lost your frickin' marbles?"

The senior merely looks at him. A few seconds pass with only the freshman's angry panting to hear. At length, the senior speaks,

"That's my payback."

"Payback for what in god's name? I don't remember having tried to suffocate you on your goddamn sleep. And that's some lecherous manner of trying to kill someone. Sadistic bastard." Ichigo spits back angrily, wiping his mouth with utmost intensity.

"You kissed me in the infirmary a few weeks back when I had a fever."

Ichigo's shoulders drop down his sides. "You—that was—I only attempted to!" he stammers incoherently.

"Really? I was kinda certain my lips actually touched yours—"

"—I ain't that much of a goddamn pervert to steal a goddamn kiss from a lecher like you." Ichigo points an accusing finger at the senior.

"Oh, I'm the lecher now?"

"Yeah. You always have been. It's even in the headlines." Ichigo's voice has risen to approximately two octaves while talking.

"I wouldn't deny that, but, surely, you ain't that much of an angel too. I even think your horns are damn good for a little filing—"

"How did you know I tried to fucking kiss you?" Ichigo asks all of a sudden.

"I just _guessed_. I wasn't too sure about it a few _minutes _back, but then you confirmed it, and now you're pawned like a bit—"

"Bastard. I'm outta here. I'll see you later." Ichigo springs from his bed and grabs his cap from the study table. To prevent the other's exit, Grimmjow stuffs his fists in his pockets and blocks the door in an adamant posture.

"Would it kill you to remain in the same room with me for a few minutes?"

"From what I can formulate, after having played in a match with you for a whole damn hour, _no_. But maybe a few hours would, so for heaven's sake, move aside."

"Well then, please sit down; this shouldn't take more than an hour."

"Let me go, sempai."

"I don't fucking want to. Not _anymore_."

Ichigo tries to maintain his temper. Jealousy had departed from him the moment Grimmjow busted Ulquiorra right on smack in front of two thousand spectators, but still he finds it difficult to forgive this senior of his erratic behavior. Finally, though, he consents to stay, as he rarely does, and falls back at the foot of his bed.

"What do you want this time?"

"You, obviously." Grimmjow answers.

Ichigo takes a deep breath and scratches his hair.

"I—I don't know. It's all too lucid for a quick decision. It's still too raw. I'm no Ulquiorra Scheiffer; can't give you what he's given you—"

"Of course you're no Ulquiorra Scheiffer. You're—you remind me of _me _back then; fiery, carefree, can't quite determine what he wants. I didn't know what I wanted or needed, so I figured out kinda late that I never needed a heartless jerk like Scheiffer. I'm not saying I need you to get over him and the past, but more than finding out what I had to do, I—I found you—and even more than that, I found myself. I just—I just think I want you. Like, I actually do and am absolutely kinda certain. Like, I never thought I'd be capable of boldly chasing anyone. I mean, I'm not one to stain my reputation, being the arrogant bastard that I am. Even so, here I go, chasing after you like a moron in need of something greatly important. What I'm trying to say is—man—be with me. And I'll ask nothing more—"

"—you'd be pushing your luck if you were to go asking for more than that, sempai. I've long ago resigned with the fact that we're over, over like yesterday. I never expected you to come back and all, and, man, I'm slowly getting closure."

"Somehow, I've figured as much you'd say that. I mean, what would an amazing kid like you do with a needy git like me anyway? Even so, will you come back to me?"

Ichigo gauges that the person in front of him is just about the most adamant, obstinate, stubborn prick he's ever known. He reckons he's as difficult as all the Roman Empire Army put together. And yet, he's as charming as a goddamn prince on a white horse.

"You're just insane. You can't reason properly, you can't—aaargh—frankly, I don't know what to make of you anymore. I just about shot dead a gazillion of my brain cells trying to solve you."

"How about you get back with me?"

"You're really persistent like paparazzi—"

"Well then, waddaya say you and me together again?"

"Are you even being serious, seriously?"

"Alright, then, stay with me, please?"

"You're asking the same thing over and over. We're not gonna reach a decent conclusion."

"I propose we reunite."

"Jesus Christ."

"I say, why don't you and I get together and take on the world and be together forever?"

"Wow. That's _really _original." Ichigo scowls upon recognizing the familiar line: it's from the lyrics of some song by Chad Kroeger and Santana.

"So why don't you and I hold each other and fly to the moon and straight on to heaven?"

"Will you _stop _ripping off from song lyrics?"

Grimmjow abruptly disengages his back from the door and draws himself up to the sitting freshman, planting both his palms at the other's sides. He looks at him with a highly attractive smile and begins to talk delightfully,

"Okay. I'll let you off for now. Think about it for as long as you like and return here with the answer I _want_." He finishes and ruffles the freshman's hair.

Ichigo hastily stands up to collect his jacket and cap before reaching out for the doorknob.

Grimmjow speaks again, "I'll just be here; no need to look around for me. And, oh, before I forget, you were named player of the game awhile ago. Congratulations. Noitora nearly burst into tears, that miserable lamp post. I mean, you deserved it big time; like, scoring that much and harvesting that much blocks with your height- truly unbelievable! Like, I should've allowed you to have a one-on-one against the bastard. Amazing, amazing. I think Coach Zaraki has a little reward for you. If it's a bar of chocolate, you should get back here immediately. Well, that's just about the whole of it; get going now. I love you, by the way." He finishes in a cheerfully informing fashion that he might have been simply talking about the bright sunny weather.

Ichigo nearly runs his head into the door. He screws up his eyebrows, clutches his forehead in a gush of frustration, looking as though he's all set up to wring his roommate's neck any second now. For all he knows, he's just about permanently stuck with the most persistent, indefatigable, infallibly spontaneous, consistently random, sporadically pushy, inescapable bastard of the 21st century. He stares at the senior now, and what he sees, in general, is the very impediment to his barely-there sanity. He can't imagine having been this much compelled to answer such a repugnant, shameless claim. Clearly, he's driving him to the end of his wits, and any more threats coming out of the senior's mouth, that is to say, any speech whatsoever, would be the final touch to the commencement of his delirium. With quite an ample time at hand, he masters his breathing and starts talking,

"I don't know what in Satan's fur is the matter with that shitty brain of yours and that tactless filthy crack you have for a goddamn mouth, and frankly, I don't wanna know. I don't know why I even listen to everything you say. I also have not the slightest shit how I've managed to survive being holed up in the same room with you; are you hearing this, _same room with you_. And to think it's been, what? How many days now, exactly? I've lost count. But then again, I might have lost my mind along the way and am now unable to be sensible, much less be capable of counting. Geez, I don't even know why I let you talk me into various stupid things. I don't know why I even pay you the slightest heed for fuck's sake. I don't know. I know nothing. Hell, I don't even know why I'm so fucking in love with you. You, of all fucking pricks? I. Don't. Fucking. Know. Why. Sempai."

With that, Grimmjow Jaggerjack hears the door close into a huge slam...and the first love confession dedicated to him.

TBC/END

**This may as well be the end but I'll have an epilogue waiting in line because I suppose I'm obligated to do so. I'll be uploading it soon because this seems lacking in conclusion like I'll have to say who gets to be the valedictorian between Ulquiorra and Szayel and that's just among other things. But you can stop reading right at this chapter since it's pretty much obvious who won Grimmy. Ulquiorra fans, I'm really sorry for this. I mean sometimes you gotta make sacrifices to give way to love hahaha, Ulquiorra, by the way, is my FAVORITE Espada. Anyway, I should thank you for reading :)**


	14. Epilogue

Chapter 14: Epilogue

_Do anything and feel anything. Just don't let this phase of your existence pass you by. _

This is what Ichigo can recall from some pathetically inspirational shit he once read, or was forced to read, back in his last year in junior high. It's so shamelessly stuffed with the most ridiculous and inaccurate clichés one can ever think of, in fact, leaving him excruciatingly criticizing the texts in the back of his head. But Grimmjow Jaggerjack relentlessly tugs the sleeve of his shirt, asking him the most annoying questions a teal-haired, 6-footer, 18-year old, handsome bastard-who-has-accidentally-ingested-at-least-five-pounds-of-candies-five-minutes-earlier can think of. Ever. Ichigo's eyebrows are quivering.

"Was it love-at-first-sight? Like, you must have seen me slam dunk the shit outta the net, aye? I totally owned every bloke in that stadium, I'm telling you."

"You're pushing it, dummy. Whoever says I'm getting back with you?"

For all Ichigo knows, if being a teenager means being pestered half to death by a boy named Grimmjow, he can just quit being one in any second starting now. Point blank.

"Come on, you're such a joy-killing stick in the mud. You said you're in love with me; like you said you're _fucking_ in love with me. Man, I almost had a menstrual period upon hearing it, frankly."

"I'd very much love to watch you bleeding in the crotch, slowly to death, right now. And if you don't shut up in the next few seconds, I might turn that one into reality." Ichigo says.

Ichigo snatches fragments of the texts from the sappy book he once read. _Do anything. Feel anything. _Well, he can just commit the first murder to have his name mentioned in the soon-to-be-published Karakura Gakuen History, since he's very much feeling it's the most justifiable thing to do at the moment.

"Man, I'm starved. Let's go to the caf."

"I've just been there, if you must know."

"Well then, come with me." Grimmjow grabs the freshman by the hand.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Ichigo winces and pans his hand away from his roommate.

"Making you come with me. Duh."

"Get your hands off mine, please. There's no need for _that_."

"Oh, is that so? Every couple's doing it so—"

"—you don't want to go into that crap. Don't you dare." Ichigo warns. The concept of being a typical couple with all those sappiness and gooeyness is simply ghastly too him.

"Alright then. Come along now; you don't want me to starve to death right here, right now, or do you?"

"You're beginning to sound like my little sis, all dependent and needy, and, frankly, it just doesn't suit you. Can't you just go without me?"

"I can't."

Ichigo's patience is doing a vehement downswing.

"Fine. Let's go." The freshman finally gives in, despite feeling more disposed to quarrel than to agree. At that, the bemused senior cracks a grin, and they tromp off towards the cafeteria.

Ichigo deduces that Grimmjow is starting to show telltale signs of manipulation, if not domination. But what can he do anyway? He's in love with the bastard, for cryin' out loud!

...

Toushiro Hitsugaya paces up and down warily in his room. He wants to apologize to his roommate for aiding Grimmjow in orchestrating what possibly is Ulquiorra's most dreadful embarrassment. He muses over what he is about to do; he's helped in injuring his pride, and now he's pining to make an apology like a filthy hypocrite. Presumably, he's about to make a double-crossing prick out of himself in front of the most intimidating audience.

Ulquiorra enters the room, and the entire mood becomes grim.

"Sempai, are you alright?" The freshman starts, undeterred by the other's gloomy presence. Granted he only has a scant margin for errors, he ransacks his mind for the right words.

The senior turns to him with a questioning look.

"Of course I am."

His cold voice almost soothes Toushiro.

"This may sound ridiculous, but I'm sorry for that show in the game." He says slowly, as if with regret.

Ulquiorra sits down on his bed.

"That? I must say damage has been done. At any rate, apology accepted."

Toushiro feels a faint remorse. He knows he can't raise a claim on innocence, simply because he felt obligated to support his friend, Ichigo, in his competition against Ulquiorra. And he supported him whole-heartedly. Hands down, he knew exactly what he was doing at that time.

"I had a choice but I did it anyway."

"I said I don't mind."

"Okay. I'll just be off now." The freshman makes for the door as if nothing has occurred worthy of noting.

"I know exactly what's going on."

Toushiro aborts his retreat.

Ulquiorra speaks again, "Grimmjow's with that orange-head friend of yours. You played along with his little performance because you were concerned about your friend's emotional welfare. That's a noble thing to do. In light of this all, honestly speaking, I'm not the one who's losing a handful of things here; it's Grimmjow."

The freshman's composure dwindles slightly. "I'm sure you're right. I'm sure you're a tad lot better, smarter, more talented, cooler, more good-looking than Ichigo. But neither of our views is significant here. What matters, and perhaps the only thing that counts, is Grimmjow-sempai's choice. With that, no matter how far above a notch you are from my orange-head friend, he's still the winner here."

This disrupts Ulquiorra's reserves immensely. In time, he answers, "In a word, I actually lost."

"Yes. I think so too, sempai. Good day to you."

...

The light begins to recede. In the hallway, Stark is humming a catchy tune. Behind him is his roommate Yamada Hanatarou, following him like a faithful servant.

"Well, Hanatarou, which room is Szayel in again?"

"I believe it's 202, same with Renji's."

The senior frowns as the trouble of descending a flight of stairs hits him.

Stark knocks in. Szayel opens the door.

"Yo, Stark. Which homework do you intend to reproduce?" The pink-haired senior asks automatically.

"Nah. I ain't copying any shit. Hey, wanna come down with us at Red Pony's? It's been a year since we had a drink."

"I have to say…I have NO time for drunken indulgences."

One hour later at Red Pony's bar...

"That really was a kick in Scheiffer's nuts. Hic—I never thought you guys would be able to pull something like that, being—hic—a bunch of prissy wimps that you are." Szayel Apollo Grantz tells the band club members as he staggers to maintain a steady sentence in between bouts of the alcohol's brunt and influence.

They listen to his endless yapping for the hell of it. Yamada Hanatarou is keeping his digital camera in tow. So far, he's taken about 50 snapshots of the merry group and half of them comprise solo shots of the lovely, gorgeous, breath-taking, utterly wasted Apollo Grantz. 25 deadly weapons of blackmailing, Stark calls them.

Sado turns on Ishida, "You think Ichigo won't be mad if he learns we didn't inform him of this little celebration?"

"He'd do his nuts, I'm totally sure."

Renji joins in the conversation. His face is as red as his hair due to sake's work, "Nah. He's probably too busy with his newfound lo—"

Toushiro pummels his palm over the redhead's mouth. "I looked around for him but he seemed busy." The silver-head swipes in. He looks at the faces around him. They're all red and happy. The fun mounts up as Ikkaku Madarame relays the mechanics of a particular drinking game where everyone gets to be more stoned in the end. Looking at Yumichika, who's vomiting in a pail, everyone concludes that there's no way someone in that condition could get any stonier. It can't get messier than this, Toushiro thinks. Apparently, it can. Hisagi Shuuhei has just pecked on Kira's cheek for everyone to see.

"What? Kissing's illegal now?" the band club president asks, with astounded glares surrounding him, amplifying the awkwardness. Clearly, he, too, is as drunk as a bastard.

"Geez, Hisagi, you defensive sonuvabitch, we haven't said a fucking word." Stark breaks the silence dismissively, downing a shot glass, which approximately is of the same size as that of a pitcher.

"I'm sure there's—hic—nothing criminal about it." Szayel pipes up, sounding thoroughly conversational.

The celebration-for-nothing ensues as they drink the night away, as what's expected of a rowdy group of teenagers. They're all wasted. This is a teenage wasteland, no more, no less.

It has been several months since an orange-head runt and a silver-head genius made acquaintance in the main building's lobby.

At present, right around this time, the top student in the freshman batch has been duly announced. **Uuryu Ishida** is simply indisputable.

**Toushiro Hitsugaya** has been named a tight competition, with his name now teetering just below the number one. Inside, he vows to elevate that name one spot higher next year.

Best friends **Kurosaki Ichigo** and **Renji Abarai** are awarded Rookie of the Year each of the Basketball Club and Soccer Club respectively. The orange-head reckons Grimmjow Jaggerjack was just about as proud as a father when it was announced.

**Noitora Jiruga** has stopped conducting malicious pranks on the basketball club captain, deeming it way below his pride; a realization that's been long overdue. He still thinks of himself as the rightful captain just because he defeated the other in a one-on-one match, not taking into account that being a captain involves infinitely more than just raw talent. He is an idiot indeed. This fact becomes more transparent when said captain was named Most Valuable Player in the Inter High league.

Recently crowned MVP **Grimmjow Jaggerjack** has been admitted to a prestigious university and was even offered quite a handful of scholarships from other schools for his athletic prowess. He has chosen Hokkaido University because Noitora Jiruga is NOT going to attend that school. With that, they can do a rematch in an actual game to redeem himself from that one doubly fateful night when he lost the one-on-one match and won a certain orange-head. He is indeed also an idiot.

**Stark** could not believe his ears when the Vice Principal Sousuke Aizen told him he was the fifth ranked student in his batch in terms of academics. He sees the graduation ceremony as nothing more than a great hassle, and now that he's required to attend it because he is going to receive a special award, he kinda feels like he's entering some cavernous tragedy in exchange for a day of good old slacking. His roommate, **Yamada** **Hanatarou**, somehow managed to encourage him to attend and to convince him that one REALLY needs to receive his diploma for countless valid reasons.

**Hisagi Shuuhei **and **Kira Izuru** are inseparable, literally. But maybe not as inseparable as best friends **Ikakku Madarame** and **Yumichika Ayasegawa** who just can't stop pestering **Sado Yasutora** to join the Karate club even after the freshman was named Rookie of the Year in the Judo club and that the school year is almost at its close.

**Szayel Apollo Grantz** and **Ulquiorra Scheiffer** are faring along miserably and are both teetering on the verge of suicide, seriously and no exaggerations are in play. They're both quite sure that they'll never again see the light of day and that if they DON'T stop breathing anytime soon, they'd just be doomed to an eternity of anguish or a lifetime of travail, if not a century of torment. Yes, they're quite sure about that. Principal Yamamoto could not quite get his mouth to phrase the right words so when the two students were summoned to his office, the best he could come up with was, "I'm sorry, but **neither **of you shall be named valedictorian this year. It's not the end of the road. College is smiling down on you, in which case, you can attain a more heralded academic status blah blah blah…" It turns out, a complete unknowable jerk has won the title. What it all signifies is they're both losers. Ulquiorra was the valedictorian in their first year. In their second year, Szayel stole that title from him. And then in their third year, in their last hope to gain the glorified title, the most critical year of their lives to date, they vied vigorously to determine the rightful holder. The rightful holder turns out to be neither of the two of them.

Ulquiorra immediately filed for a sick leave the following day to get himself some solace in his hometown in Germany. He assured the worried faculty department that he'd be back in a week, whereas the professors asserted that he was indeed in dire need of a break before the graduation. Before consenting to Ulquiorra's request, however, Principal Yamamoto had to ask him to sign an official agreement which barred him from jumping off a goddamn cliff in some German province or hang himself in some gallows. He signed the paper without reading it.

Szayel Apollo opted for a wholly different method of reparation. His first choice for recuperation was to order a casket and stuff himself in it. Unfortunately, he later on realized that it was a little impractical, for the reason that no one was willing to volunteer to bury him alive. Instead, he found himself dragging a barrel of Colt 45 beer all the way to his dormitory room for the drink to be his companion, his substitute consolation, for the night. By the time Renji emerged into the room from his Soccer practice, his roommate was sprawled face down on the floor with quite a pool of saliva beneath him. Ten minutes later, Renji Abarai would give and receive his first kiss. Twelve minutes later, he'd be toppling over two flights of stairs on the way to room 408.

"Ichigo, mate, you won't believe what just fucking happened!" he told his pal after smuggling the orange-head out of the room, looking all haggard and panicked.

"What?"

"I kissed sempai! I don't know why I did it, but I fucking did it _anyway_!"

"Are you happy or are you bewildered?"

"I don't know! He was all drunk like a bastard, and he French-kissed me and I French-kissed him back and shit! Shit!"

"Brings about memories." Ichigo muttered to no one in particular as his mind receded to where his memorable (technical) first kiss was.

"Did you say something?"

"No, it's nothing. But, Renji, what the fuck are you doing here? If you tarry here any longer, Apple-sempai would pass out and be too boring to kiss."

Renji paused in meditation. "Yeah. You're right."

He disappeared faster than teleportation.

"I'll get jealous if you go on being too sticky with that redhead mate of yours." Said a voice from the corridor. Grimmjow had just arrived from a stroll around the town, according to him.

"Sheesh. As if." Ichigo said before removing his forestalled figure from the doorway to make room for his infamous roommate, who, in the near future, would cease to be his roommate. Graduation was drawing near, and he couldn't quite distinguish if he'd feel happy for Grimmjow or not.

Such thoughts were plaguing his mind, still.

"You had your lunch already?" The senior asked as he bustled in the room.

"Yeah. Where on Earth have you been?"

"Hah. Got something for ya." The senior smiled his repulsively handsome smile.

"What? Food?" Ichigo asked in an almost gratifying tone.

"Nah. Check this out."

The senior stood up, turned his back on him and pulled up his shirt to his head to reveal his slender back. On the lower right corner of his magnificent back gleamed a sizeable, black, freshly printed numeric figure '6'. Ichigo muttered a faint murmur of curiosity.

"Is it a permanent tattoo?"

"Yeah. What did you think? I'm a wimp? Macho, ain't it?"

_Sexy, more like_. Ichigo thought.

"It's swell. I don't like the font style, though. It's too archaic. Anyway, what's with the number six?"

Grimmjow hustled his shirt down, turned around and tilted his head closer to the younger boy,

"Don't get all big-headed, but that's the day of the month when _you_ first kissed me."

Ichigo just about winced from the information. He deemed it rather a gallant homage for something as unremarkable as their first kiss. And maybe it was too cheesy for him to be given any form of credit. And now he was shuddering because it just didn't suit Grimmjow to endow sentimental attachments to stuff like…wait a goddamn minute—

"First time I kissed you? Wasn't that the time in the locker room after your one-on-one with Jiruga? I'm quite sure that was late in the month."

"That night? Didn't that come _after_ the time when you kissed me in the infirmary?

"So? As I earlier have fervently stressed; I didn't kiss you in the goddamn infirmary. I only attempted to—"

"—Tsk. You have such a lousy memory. Remember the time when you got admitted to the basketball team? We went to the pub, and then I got as wasted as a goddamn truckload of garbage. And when we got here, I sort of like came over you?"

Ichigo remembered. He remembered that his oh so memorably insignificant technical first kiss took place on the night he dragged his drunk-as-a-bastard senior home. He remembered that after the incident, Grimmjow wasn't able to remember anything about that fateful kiss of inebriety, so he just kept it all to himself and NEVER counted it as anything more than what it was. He found himself wanting to drive his fist into his roommate's prominent face.

"You fucking know that?! All these months I've been buffooning around like a freaking moron, moping in the fraudulent belief that my fucking first kiss was a stolen, pathetic, embarrassing, unconscious, unplanned, unintended, not-even-sober accident?"

"Well, at least it was anything BUT ordinary."

They are anything but ordinary; anything but typical; anything but regular and predictable and so on. They're just probably in love.

**END**

**A/N: **Okay, I admit this is all so teeny bopperish I can just puke my head off right now seeing as I can't write to save my neck. In any case, thanks for reading and reviewing and all and pardon me for the errors along the way. So there, that makes up for a closing remark; this is finally over. Long live GrimmIchi…Yaoi forever!


End file.
